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No. 3G. RULES 


OF THE 


Universalist Sabbath School Library, 
St. Johnsbury Center, Vt. 


I. 

Members of the Sabbath School and those who 
attend the Universalist meeting are entitled to 
take books from the Library. 

iki 

No volume can be retained from the Library 
more than two weeks. 

Lik. 

A fine of two cents a week will be charged if 
the books are retained longer than two weeks. 

IV. 


Persons taking books from the Library will be 
held responsible for their return and for any 
damage that may occur to them. 


Vi 


Not more than two volumes can be taken at 
any one time by one person. 


VI. 


The Librarian shall keep an exact account of 
all books received, loaned and returned. 


UNIVERS!Ty | 
__ ILLINOIS ee, 
AT URBANA-CHAMPAIGN 
BOOKSTACKs 


























Wi) FATE 
tq} iNET 
a 
AAT HA NH 
NAGA UNA Mi HAN A 




























































































THE 


HARVEST OF LOVE. 


A STORY 


FOR THE HOME CIRCLE. 


BY 


MINNIE S. DAVIS, 


AUTHOR OF **MARION LESTER.?? 
e 


BOSTON: 


PUBLISHED BY A. TOMPKINS, 
“ 38 & 40 CoRNHILL. 


1860. 


ad eo 


Entered according to Act of ft Gegieke in the year 1859, by 


We ; Ay TOMPKINS, . : i 


In wee Clerk’ Office of the District Pom of the District of Massachusetts 





PREFACH. 


EE ooo 


ENncouraGeD by the kindly welcome which 
> greeted “Marion Lester,’ and in compliance 


$ with the wishes of her friends, the author here. 


‘> . presents an earlier work, — the first continuous 
“effort of her pen. She has reviewed it with 
care ; and, though conscious that it is still im- 
‘perfect, she hopes it may not prove wae 
unacceptable. 

\ Though the author gattiered the suatennle for 
her story only in the realms of imagination, she 
2 believes there is nothing i in it untrue to nature. 
“Doubtless many will be able to point out the 
Niliving counterparts of some of the characters 
Shere portrayed. 

© Dear reader, are you seeking a “sensation 
“novel,” gorgeously colored, with intricate plot 
_ yand startling denouement ?— then lay this little 
Sbook aside; it is not for you. But if you wish 


g7C€- AE 


® 


IV PREFACE. 


to find truth guiding the hand of fancy, —if 
you love a simple, home story, developing such 
characters as would bless and beautify that 
spot where all the holiest affections of the heart 
are centred,— perchance you may find pleasure 
in perusing these pages. 

: MINNIE 8. DAVIS. 
BetHeL, May, 1859. 


Ay 





CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER I. cements 
CHILDISH CHARACTER, + + + + ++ e+ ee es eS Aa ena 7 
CHAPTER If, 
HOME INPLUENCH |. Bog 5 Peers) aso ected eke Ce a Eee 8 
GHAPTER Tit. 
THE POWER OF KINDNESS, ...- « Pare hat eee 1c 6.t ox oh eee 
CHAPTER IV. 
THE ORPHAN’S THANKSGIVING, . » « «= « ata gales uteuet ieee 33 
CHAPTER V. 
SOOO SCENES;) «ful ss FL aloes beanie Mens Boo eee AL 
: CHAPTER VI. 
PLANS FOR CLINTON’S IMPROVEMENT, . «+ «2 es es «© « » 51 
CHAPTER VII. 
PORESTADOWINGS 0% be Cis 6 te ee ve wa tae liek et eeemes 62 
CHAPTER VIII.° 
BORA VEEN Tn oie ee et Ae. ae al elite eh ape devel epee are (cae 
CHAPTER 1X. 
NiCWACOMEES, - 0 eile c Wop eh ratisceica LS leis hatcebial seraiee 76 
GHA P Tt Roark. 
CHENGHE Ge ah eee ets cok oe ia” eae ts Rake sh Cee 86 
* ; 
CHAPTER XxX £. 
GeaeeVORTUNES OF OLINTON, 40 os, (so eet see se e+. 0 LOA 
CHAPTER XII. 
WEWeOBVPLOPMUNTO. oo ic). geo ef eueie bce +8) 0) eh 6 geiae 123 
| GHA PTER: ALEL: 
“EXPLANATIONS AND DISCOVERIES, + « «© © eo se ee wo - 181 


CHAPTER XIV. 
SORROW, — NOW PLANS, cote Sh eo ee bg wt ela 8 8 . 144 


VI CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER XV. 


NEW FRIENDS AND A NEW HOME, « .. . «eee Ar ae eu |) 
CHAPTER XVI. 

SPR UIOUN PTR LONG Wi! a Vref ae Sb ae ce Ly diechiwlh cis we fin te - 164 
CHAPTER XVII 

BETOOME MOME e'\cun eta) ish oso 0 tae os Sas le Tipts c aie iets Nae O 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


AN OLD FRIEND APPEARS UPON THE STAGE, . . » « « « « « 189 


CHAPTER XIX. 


TUG ORS EDs 1 to ths tao tty ae ie ice (ie 8 as Lime a ee 191 
CHAPTEHR. xX 
GOMPORT: aici Vino ees iy reo ve the So tle ee hac eects Se Pe las 
4CHAPTER XXI. 
A ATANDER EE OROUND, 6°!" sw veh s js 6. oie te Gb. se Sea ee SL 
CHAPTER XX Sis 
LOVE. — HOPE WOT: OUP AETN, oe eee sete bo elm Walon Te 210 
CHAPTER XXIII. 
POMINA GD LMTERLOM Ss be ep evo. ook ce re eke OR Rae a 217 
CHAPTER ele 
OUR HERO BROUGHT TO HIS SENSES, »« «s+ ee ew ee 2238 
CHAPTER UA AY. 
HAPPINESS. —LAURETTA’S PRIDE, «1s ss 0 s+ 0 © © wo 229 
CHAPTER XXVI. 
UNCLE IKE IN A DILEMMA, “MH. .... lie in FOS, Sekt 288 
CHAPTER XXVII. 
RE BIO AS Shi cg tee Lgl ie Vie fete ae Tae ak Lp alee Ra drs Bas’. 
CHAPTER XXVIII. A 
TATRETTAS Sia Helin ye lie: Soot rege, Rive ae a fe fe Seles eres eOU 


CHAPTER XXIX. 
RO WUNAISEON,, a) ot 1 9b. we Lec Sata ameaicent acs gta icact es lecciv), «x tele 


“* 
¢ 


CHAPTER I. 
CHIBDISH CHARACTER. 


‘WHAT a naughty thing Clint Forrest is! He is 
the worst boy in school. Just hear how wickedly he 
talks.” 

“OQ, Dora! I am sure he is not as bad as those 
great boys who vex him so. Everybody tries to 
plague poor Clint!” 

‘But just see, Mina; he is kicking John Carter 
with all his might; he is mad enough to tear him in 
pieces. He has gota dreadful temper,—you can’t 
dispute that? ”’ 

‘‘T know he acts very badly; but he hasn’t any 
father or mother to teach him. I almost cry when I 
think that he has nobody to love him. The boys 
always blame him for everything ; and I don’t believe 
he’d hurt any one if they didn’t provoke him to it.” 

‘Perhaps he would n’t, Mina. I didn’t think any- 
thing about his having no fafler and mother. Poor 
Clint ! ” | 

The group of quarrelsome boys, which the children 
were passing, now dispersed, and they soon forgot 
them. The little maidens were on their way to 
school, and not a wild flower on the roadside escaped 
their eager grasp; for they must all be presented as — 
a love-token to their teacher. A childish though 
beautiful friendship existed between the little eg 

COC 


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. 


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Re P st: ; ie ; a 3 $ 
& * 


8 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


% 
which had never been marred by the least difference 
or coldness. They had been together daily from in- 
fancy, and no sisters ever loved each other better. 

Dora May lived with her widowed mother in the 
pretty cottage close to Dr. Clement’s fine mansion. 
She was the love and pride of that mother’s heart. 
And well she might be, for the gay, spirited Dora 
won all hearts by her sweet vivacity of manner. 
Though six months older than Elmina Clement, she 
appeared more than that younger. Her tiny figure 
seemed quite babyish beside Elmina’s elegant form. 
Her beautiful hazel eye beamed with a happy light. 
One could not look upon her sunny face without a 
thrill of pleasure. The little friends usually acted in 
concert; but Elrfina’s was the guiding spirit. Hl- 
mina possessed a maturity of mind, a precocity of in- 
tellect, rarely “found in ‘a child of seven years. So 
unconscious was she of this, that it’ did not destroy 
the childishness so beautiful in childhood. Though 
she was caressed and petted much, she was not 
spoiled; that the spss care of her mother had 
prevented. 

Very happily did they ramble on their way. Dora 
_had given Mina all her flowers, that there might be 
one large bouquet. Elmina accepted them, saying 
she would tell Miss Morris that Dora had gathered 
half of them. | 

Just then a boy, about nine years old, came run- 
ning by them. ‘‘There is Clint,” said Dora; ‘‘ won- 
der if he has got over his passion ? ” 

The boy heard what she said, and turned back 
spitefully. 

“You wonder if Clint has got over his passion, do 
you? Iam never going to get over it. I shall keep 
in a passion all the time. Everybody hates me, and 
I’m sure I hate everybody.” 


CHILDISH CHARACTER. 9 


“O, Clint, you ought not to say that! It is very 
wrong,”’ said Mina. 

‘Tt is very wrong!” he repeated, mockingly. 
“*Q, don’t I wish I was a little lady, and had long, 
black curls! How smart I should feel, wearing m 
pink muslin frock and white apron, and telling folks 
that didn’t care about anything or anybody, that 
they were very wreng! ”’ 

‘Do go away, you disagreeable boy !”’ cried Dora. 

‘You are vastly mistaken if you think I’ll go at 
your order, miss.”’ Clint observed that Elmina car- 
ried her flowers very carefully, and snatched them 
from her, throwing them upon the ground, and tread- 
ing them ito the damp earth. She stoed for a 
moment silent with astonishment, then burst into 
tears. ‘‘Q, you want your flowers, de you, you dear 
little cry-baby? Here, take ’em an’ welcome.’’ So 
saying, he gathered up the soiled and broken flowers, 
with a handful ef mud, and threw them upon her neat 
dress. | : 

‘Clint Forrest, you are the worst boy in the 
world! I don’t wonder everybody hates you,” cried 
the indignant Dora. 

“ Don’t think you ’ve teld me any news, for I knew 
it all before.”” With a loud laugh he turned towards 
the scheol-house. Q, what a laugh for a child like 
him! It teld of a heart barren of all the sweet affec- 
tions which love and kindness foster. It told fearfully 
of the neglect of that young immortal. Child as he 
was, his heart was incrusted with bitterness and dis- 
trust. But down deep in that little heart were 
springs capable of vibrating to the purest and holiest 
emotions. Of their existence the boy himself was 
ignorant. They had never been sought for. _ 


This last rude act seemed very cruel vand uncalled ee 


ae 





for to Elmina, when she felt so much kindness towards 


* 


10 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


him, and had expressed it so warmly. ‘The sensitive 
child sobbed convulsively, while Dora vented her feel- 
ings in the use of all the angry expletives she could 
command. 

‘“‘What is the matter, sis? ’”’ cried a pleasant voice, 
and Elmina’s brother Frank put his arm kindly about 
the little girl. ‘What is it, dear Mina?” he re- 
peated. ‘‘ You don’t often cry like this. What has 
happened, darling?’”’ She could not speak, though 
she strove to suppress her sobbing. 

Dora told the story with flashing eyes, and in so 
spirited a manner, that Frank supposed it much worse 
than it really was. He was as much displeased as 
Dora could wish him to be. He soothed his little , 
sister with true brotherly kindness, and, when the 
school-bell rung, her tears were wiped away, and she 
was trying to smile. ‘‘ Don’t go into school now, 
with your red eyes, Mina. You and Dora go down 
to the brook and bathe your face. Wait till you are 
smiling and cheerful, and I will excuse you to the 
teacher.”? As soon as the little girls were out of 
hearing, he muttered to himself, ‘‘'The young scamp ! 
to think of his hurting my sister! I suppose he’lJ 
vex sweet little Dora next. Miss Morris shall know 
it; and I hope she’! punish him severely. I’d like 
to train him for one week !’’ 

The two children passed down a narrow path, lead- 
ing behind the school-house, to the place where a 
rivulet babbled over shining pebbles and glistening 
sand. ‘The banks were high on both sides, except 
where a large shelving rock rose a few rods from the 
water. A spreading willow shaded the spot. In 
summer it was a very inviting place, both for its cool- 
ness and rude beauty. This was Dora’s and Elmina’s 
favorite retreat. Here they brought their toys and 
books, and played many: happy hours. Sometimes 


CHILDISH CHARACTER. 13 


« 

Frank came and read stories to them, or brought his 
hook and line and caught the tiny fishes that sported 
in the water. They were so happy here, and loved 
the place so well, that Frank had christened it 
‘Happy Nook.’ The other school children did not 
often molest them in their Happy Nook; for most of 
them preferred rude and noisy games to the quiet 
amusements that delighted our little friends. 

To this pretty spot the children now turned their 
steps. After Elmina had bathed her*heated brow 
and swollen eyes in the cool water, they seated them- 
selves upon the rock, their arms thrown lovingly about 
each other. ‘I thought I should try to love that 
rude Clint Forrest,” said Dora; ‘‘ but I don’t want 
to love him now; he has so abused you, dear Mina.”’ 

‘‘T shall love him just as much as ever,” replied 
Elmina. ‘I was not angry with him, only very 
sorry.”’ 

“T should n’t think you would care much about 
him, after he has mocked you, and called you proud, 
and spoiled your flowers, and all that.. If Frank tells 
. Miss Morris, he’ll get whipped for it. Don’t you 
recollect that, when he pushed Lizzie French down 
yesterday, and made her cut her lip, she said she’d 
whip him the very next time he quarrelled with any- 
body, or hurt any one?” ; 

‘So she did, Dora. O, I hope Frank hasn’t told 
her! I don’t want Clint to be whipped; for he 
didn’t hurt me any. Come, let us hurry, Dora, so 
that we can tell her that, if Frank has told her about 
It.”’ 

Dora’s sympathies were aroused, and the two chil- 
dren hastened to the school-room. When they 
entered, they instantly perceived they were too late | 
to save the little urchin from his threatened punish- 
ment. He had already been chastised, and ston? é 


Pi 


12 THE HARVEST OF LOViRS 


before his teacher with a stubborn and determined 
expression on his face. His eyes were filled with the 
tears which he was too proud to let fall. 

‘‘T hope you understand me now, Clinton,”’ said 
Miss Morris, in a cold, stern voice. ‘Take your 
seat, and remember this day’s lesson.” 

The boy took his seat, muttering, ‘‘ 1 wish I had 
hurt her! I wish I’d half killed her!” 

Miss Morris turned, and saw the children standing 
near, with flushed and excited faces. She placed her 
hand caressingly upon Elmina’s head, and asked, in a 
kind ‘voice, if Clint had hurt her much. Elmina 
did not reply to the question, but raised her eyes with 
a reproachful look to her teacher’s face, and said, 
‘‘Did you punish Clinton because he vexed me?” 

“Yes, my dear. I was very sorry to be obliged to 
do so; but it is my duty to try to prevent his bad 
treatment of the scholars. Don’t feel so grieved 
about it, Mina.’”’? She stooped, and would have kissed 
the rosy, pouting lips, but the child prevented it by 
turning quickly away. She took her seat, hid her 
face in her apron, and wept. Miss Morris was much 
surprised, and tried to comfort her, but she shook her 
curly head very determinedly, and sobbed more 
bitterly. ; 

Clint peered at her through his tangled hair, atid 
wondered. He could not understand Mina’s feelings ; 
still he thought that he would rather be punished 
again than see her crying for him. He sag remarkably 
still all the afternoon, wondering how it happened 
that a beautiful little girl, with so many nice clothes 
and such a number of kind friends, could care enough 
about him to cry because he was hurt; and one, too, 
whom he had treated so very unkindly. 

‘Where is that dear, little Mina?” cried one of 
the large girls, at recess. No one could tell; not 


» May e 
a.) 


* 
ia [eo 
i 











ILDISH CHARACTER. 13 


even Dora. What a tender-hearted child she is! 
I wanted to put my arms about her and kiss her, when 
she was crying as though her heart would break.” 

‘* Did you notice,”’ said another, ‘‘ how proudly she 
came out of the school-house ? Then, what a look she 
gave Miss Morris! It told, better than she could have 
expressed in words, her indignation. I did n’t know, 
before, that she had so much spirit.” 

‘Wor my part,’’ chimed in Jane Kent, ‘I think 
she is a silly thing to make such a fuss about that 
beggar-boy. I believe she made it more than half 
just for the sake of the impression.’’ 

‘Why, Jane!” said the first speaker, ‘we all 
know Elmina too well to believe a word of it. I 
should think Clinten Forrest would be ashamed ever 
to look at her again. I wonder where the little one 
has hid herself?” 

They could not find the runaway, and they gave 
up the search, concluding that she had gone home. 
She did not make her appearance at school again’ that 
' . afternoon, and Dora went home sad and lonely without 
her. ) 


CHAPTER II. 


HOME INFLUENCE. 


A perfect woman, nobly planned, 

To warn, to comfort, and command 5 

And yet a spirit still and bright, 

With something of an angel light. 
WORDSWORTH. 


THE beautiful Connecticut winds its silvery course 
through: the green plains of Oakville, —a charming 
rural “village. I'he emerald hills rise majestically 
towards heaven, throwing their cool shadows across 
the shining waters. How the heart of nature’s wor- 
_ shipper revels in the grand scenery which the Inimi- 
table Artist has pencilled along the banks of our own 
» beloved Connecticut! A writer from the far-famed 
West has called New England a noble “ panorama,” 
which she should like to visit on a pleasure excursion ; 
but thought a home in the fertile and luxuriant West 
far preferable. Not so, Earth has no purer, sweeter 
homes, than the thousands nestling in the green bosom 
of New England. arth has no nobler, wiser men, 
no gentler, truer women, than those who are the 
dwellers in these homes. 

One of these homes —a model home —a ‘ minia- 
ture heaven on earth,” we will introduce to the reader. 
The finest and most tasteful residence in Oakville is 
the property of Dr. Clement, —a generous, public- 
spirited man, and a skilful physician. He is emphat- 

(IB) oe 


a, 


HOME INFLUENCE. 15 


ically the man of the place. His wealth and station 
in society render him influential, while his generosity 
and affable manners make him popular. The poor do 
not envy, nor the rich rival him. He is alike the 
friend of the high and lowly. His wife and two 
children, Frank and Elmina, are the treasures which 
God has lent and enshrined within his heart and 
home. 3 
, The wife and mother is the guiding-star of this 
happy family. What sunshine is to day, what health 
is to life, what religion is to man, is she to every 
member of the household. ‘A perfect woman, nobly 
_ planned.”’ We think she must have been formed 
after Wordsworth’s beautiful ideal. She possesses a 
delicate and pleasing person, a refined and cultivated 
intellect, and a heart where the religion of love dwells 
as in a fitting temple. Her husband loves her almost 
idolatrously, and her children reverentially. 
One beautiful evening, Mrs. Clement sat by her 

open window, watching the gentle falling of the cur- 
~ tain which twilight spreads before the glory of re- 
treatmg day. Karly September had added a soften- — 
ing charm to nature, which had seemed almost too » 
beautiful before. The birds were softly chanting whale eta 
‘* sood-night songs,’”’ and the fragrance.of many flow- 
ers was wafted to her on the wings of the zephyr. 
She had 


** Looked and listened, till the spell 
Of music and of beauty fell 
So radiant. on her heart,’’ 


that her senses seemed lost in a sweet revery. A 
glad laugh and the sound of childish voices aroused 
her. A happy smile danced ’neath the lids of her 
eyes as she called, in her gentle, motherly voice, 

‘Mina, bid Dora ‘good-night’ and come in to 
“mamma, for the dew is falling.” 


16 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


A moment more, and Elmina skipped into the room, 
followed by Frank, who seated himself by the table, 
and commenced studying his lessons for the morrow. 
Elmina drew her little chair to her mother’s side, and 
Jaid her head in her Jap, looking up into her face with 
smiling eyes. ) 

Mrs. Clement parted the damp curls from her 
daughter’s brow, saying, ‘‘Is my little girl sorry 
when night comes,.and she must leave her play and 
come in and stay with her mother ?”’ 

“OQ; no, mamma! I love Dora dearly, and papa 

“and Frank ever so much; but you, mamma, I love 
better than everybody else! It seems so nice to lay 
my head in your lap when I am tired. O, mamma!” 
she added, raising her head eagerly, with the sudden 
thought, “tell me some more about the angels and 
heaven. I wish I was an angel myself, when I hear 
you talk about them.” 

‘“‘T have told you all I know, my love. You must 
recollect that 1 have never seen an angel; they live 
with God in heaven.” 

‘Then, mamma, please tell me about Jesus, who 
slept in a manger, and how the angels sung when he 
was born. When you tell me about that, I feel as 
though I should always be good.”’ 

The pleased mother related, as she had many times 
before, the story of the birth of our Saviour. She 
interspersed it with judicious remarks calculated to 
impress the plastic mind of her eager listener with 
the value and beauty of religion. Child as Elmina 
was, her greatest desire was to become good. Her 
mother she deemed perfect ; and, as was most natural, 
she looked upon her as her model and example. Mrs. 
Clement knew this, and with earnest solicitude she 
strove thus early to implant in the mind of her child 
a love for that only perfect example and pattern—our 


HOME INFLUENCE. 17 


Saviour. She felt that her delicate and sensitive child 
could never withstand the trials and temptations of 
this life without His holy arm to lean upon. Though 
she was anxious that her beloved children should attain 
to intellectual. greatness, she considered that insig- 
nificant when compared to a character adorned with 
the Christian graces. 

Mina listened to her mother’s words with great 
seriousness. After she had ceased speaking, she sat 
_ silent and thoughtful for some time. Mrs. Clement, 
thinking proper to divert her mind to some lighter 
and more trifling subject, inquired if they had had 
a pleasant school that day. 

The question seemed to confuse Mina; for she 
blushed, and fixed her eyes upon her mother’s with a 
troubled expression. 

Mrs. Clement looked at her with surprise, and 
asked if she had not been a good girl. | 

The reply was in a low voice. ‘‘No, mamma, DP m 
afraid that I have not been very good. 

‘How have you been naughty, my dear? I hope 
you was not so at school.” 

‘Why, mamma, I looked cross at my teacher, and 
would not let her kiss me.’ 

‘ Looked cross at your teacher, Mina! How came 
you to be so disrespectful ? Tell me all about it.” 

‘“‘T could n’t love her any!, She whipped poor 
Clinton Forrest when he didn’t deserve it. Wasn't 
it too bad, mamma? He did not hurt me at all; he 
only spoiled my flowers.” Her eyes were sparkling © 
with tears. She forgot her own misconduct in her 
childish indignation against her teacher. 

‘You seem to think that I know part of the story. 
You will have to tell me what Clinton did, before I 
can understand it.” 

2 


«e 


18 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


‘Tet me tell you about it, mother,’’ said Frank, 
who had been listening to the conversation. ‘‘ Mina 
seems to think it was a dreadful affair; though it 
was n’t much, after all.” He then explained to his 
mother his meeting the little girls, and Elmina’s 
grief and Dora’s anger. “Then,” he continued, “I 
was very angry 00, and told Miss Morris, and she 
punished him, as she had been threatening to do for a 
long time. I’m very sorry -I did, though, since 
Mina takes it so to heart.’ 

‘“T scolded at Frank, too, when we came home, 
because he told the teacher,” said Elmina. ‘I know 
he did it because he loves me so, and don’t want me 
to be treated badly.” 

‘QO, never mind that, sis!’”? said Frank, good- 
humoredly. “T should n’t know how to appreciate 


your sweetness, if you were not a — cross some- 


times.” 
‘I do not wonder that you were ‘geleved, Mina,” 


ae Irs. Clement. ‘‘ But I am sorry that you should 


treat’ your teacher and brother unkindly. I am 
glad, though, that it is nothing worse. I feared, 
by your looks, that you had done something very 
wrong.” 

‘OQ, mamma, that is not all!’’ Elmina turned her 
blushing and tearful face away from her mother’s 
anxious gaze. ‘' When I went out at recess — - 

“When you went out at recess!’ interrupted 
Frank. ‘O, mother, I wish you could have seen 
her! She went out like a queen, with her head 
thrown back so proudly! Then she gave Miss Mor- 
ris such a look—it would have annihilated a common 
person ina minute! I never knew that Mina had so 
much temper before. She didn’t come into school 
again all the afternoon. Where did you hide your~ 
self, sis ?”” 


HOME INFLUENCE. ’ 19 


‘¢T ran down to Happy Nook as quick as I could, 
so that Dora .or anybody else couldn’t see me. I 
did n’t mean to stay only a minute, but I felt so bad 
thinking about poor Clint, that I could n’t go back. I 
knew it was naughty to stay, but I could n’t bear to 
see Clint, for fear he would hate me.” 

Mrs. Clement listened with mingled emotions of 
pleasure and pain. She was grateful to know that 
her daughter was so tender to the poor and eppressed, 
but grieved that she should manifest so rebellious a 
spirit towards her teacher. It was something very new 
in Mina, and she was surprised as well as grieved. 
Hlmina argued, from her mother’s silence, that she 
was very much displeased with her, and she hid her 
face in the folds of her dress, and sobbed. 

‘‘ Don’t cry, my love,” said Mrs. Clement. ‘I 
think your teacher will forgive you, if you tell her 
you are sorry. Iam willing to believe that you did. 
not mean te de very wrong; that you were so sorry 
for Clint that you forgot yourself.”’ 

‘You are such a good mother not to say I was a 
bad girl!’ said Elmina, gratefully. ‘‘I did n’t mean 
to be naughty to Miss Morris. I want to be good, so 
everybedy will love me.’ 

‘Try very hard to u good, my dear child, and 
ask God to help you every day.” 

“Twill, mamma; but I wish I was as good as 
you. I would never ask to be any better.”’ 

‘‘My darling, there is a perfect example — Jesus 
Christ. If you take him for your guide, you may 
become much better and wiser than your mother.”’ 

‘‘ Better than you, mamma! How can that be? I 
thought you were always good.” 

5) 0, no, Mina; I am often wrong, and need to 
ask forgiveness of God. But let us talk about your 
teacher. You said you did not love her. You must 


20 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


recollect that she is older and wiser than you. She 
punishes Clinton because she wishes to make him a 
good boy.” 

“0, do love my teacher, though I thought I 
didn’t then. But she don’t love Clint, I’m sure. She 
never says a word to him, only to tell him what to do, 
or scold him when he is naughty.” 

‘“‘Of course she don’t love him!” cried Frank. 

‘‘ But she loves me, Frank,’’ said Elmina. ‘‘ She 
kisses me, and calls me her little darling. And Dora 
she calls her fairy. Why should-n’t she love Me 
Clint?” 

‘Why, Mina, if she didn’t love you and Dery 
T should think she hadn’t any heart! It is quite 
another thing to love that ugly Clint Forrest.”’ 

You shan’t call him ugly! I say he is hand- 
some.’ 

‘‘ Handsome ! — what an idea of beauty !’’? — and 
Frank laughed immoderately. ‘‘ Why, he is always 
as. ragged “and dirty as any heathen need be. His 
head forever looks like an oven-broom! ‘Then he has 
such an ugly scowl that I can’t bear to look at him.” 

‘“ Frank!’ said Elmina, reproachfully, ‘‘ you know 
Clint has no mother to keep him neat. His hair would 
be real curly if it was combed ; and his eyes are beau- 
tiful. Did you ever notice them, Frank, when he was 
good-natured? You would say they were handsome, 
if you did.” 

‘‘ Well, to please you, sis, I'll say he’s a beauty; _ 
but you can’t make me say he isn’t a bad boy. 
Everybody says he is bad.”’ 

“That is it. Poor Clint!’ said’ Mrs. Clement. 
‘Everybody says he is a bad boy, and I’m afraid 
there are but few that try to love him and make 
him better.” 

‘No, mamma,” said Mina. ‘There isn’t anybody 


HOME INFLUENCE. rat ae 


that loves him. He said to-day that he hated every- 
body, and everybody hated him. I’m sure I could n’t 
be good at all, if I did not havea kind mother to show 
me how.” 

“‘T think Clinton never has had a fair chance,”’ 
said Mrs. Clement. ‘‘ He was always pushed about, 
and called wicked, before he knew what the word 
meant. I hope, dear Frank, that you will treat him 
kindly. If you are so disposed, you may be the means 
of doing him much good.” 

‘“‘T believe you are right, mother,” said Frank. 
‘‘ Clint has been neglected and abused. Ill try to 
help him to be good. I’m afraid, as Mina says, that 
Miss Morris does not try to get his love. I should 
think Mrs. Kent would dress him better, and take 
some pains with him.’ 

‘We will not think of- Mrs. Kent’s duty, my son, 
but try to fulfil our own faithfully.” 

. Elmina was rejoiced that she had succeeded in 
enlisting the sympathies of her mother and Frank 
in behalf of poor Clint. With a happy heart she 
bade her brother ‘‘ good-night,’’ and followed her 
mother to her bed-chamber. ‘Mrs. Clement conversed 
a few minutes with her little girl, then listened to her 
evening prayer, and, with a kiss and a blessing, left 
her to her peaceful slumbers. When she’ returned 
to the parlor, a lady, sitting in the chair she had left, 
rose, and Mrs. Clement greeted her visitor with quiet 
politeness. 

“T thought I would run in just a minute,” said 
the visitor, as she reseated herself, ‘‘and see if it 
would n’t cheer me up a little. I have been so nerv- 
ous all day, that I could hardly contain myself.”’ 

“What ig the cause of your nervousness, Mrs. 
Kent? Are you not well?” 

“QO; yes, I’m well enough; but Bill keeps me 


‘a 


BF THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


worrying about him half the time. He goes into 
the water so much, that I am afraid he will have the 
cramp and get drowned. All I say to. him don’t do 
any good. ‘To-day he went off a-hunting with half a 
dozen wild fellows. He doesn’t know anything about 
a gun, and I’ve felt so anxious about him that I 
have n’t enjoyed myself in the least to-day.” 

‘‘T don’t wonder you are anxious; but is his father 
willing to have him go?” 

‘OQ, Mr. Kent always lets him do as he pleases. 
He thinks everything Bill says and does is right. 
He has spoiled him, that is sure! Now he is so old 
T can’t make him mind. I don’t know what will 
become of him !”’ 

“So old you can’t make him mind!” said Mrs. 
Clement, in surprise. ‘‘ Why, he isn’t more than 
thirteen, is he?” 

‘No; just the age of your Frank. He has grown 
strangely wilful of late. Lam completely discouraged. 
The other day I told him I wished he would spend his 
evenings at home, as Frank’ does. He replied that 
‘he didn’t want to be tied to’ his mother’s apron- 
string.’ Then he went and got one of his father’s 


eigars (he knows I hate to have him smoke), and— 


went off puffing like any man! But I can’t help 
being proud of him,” continued the weak mother, 
is so bold’and manly !” or 
Mrs. Clement thought that she should never be 
proud of such manliness in her boy, but rs | kept, 
the thought to herself. * 
It were scarce possible to find a character more 


opposite to Mrs. Clement’s than that of Mrs. Kent, 


who Was coarse and unrefined in manners, and pas- 
sionate, yet weak and irresolute. Her children she 
loved foolishly, for she spoiled them with indulgence, 
and then comforted herself by throwing all the blame 


Coe 
he 


es 


HOME INFLUENCE. - 93° 


upon her husband. Of course they neither loved nor 
feared her, and in consequence her maternal anxieties 
were often excited by their misconduct. 

‘“‘T don’t understand,” said Mrs. Kent, ‘how you 
manage to keep Frank with you somuch. Why, my 
children never think of sitting down in theqhouse with 
me, for half an hour. They would think it was a 
dreadful thing, if I should make them.”’ 

“Tt requires no great exertions on my part, ”? re- 
plied Mrs. Clement, smiling. ‘ Frank may sates 
for himself if it is unpleasant for him.” 

Mrs. Kent never received such a glance from her 
son as that which now warmed Mrs. Clement’s heart. 
With an affectionate smile, and a beaming eye, Frank 
exclaimed, ue am never so happy as when neat my 
dear mother ! 

Mrs. Kent's eyes filled, and a pang shot through 
her heart, as she contrasted him with her own way- 
ward and ungrateful son. But she never thought 
of reproaching herself for the difference, —she only 
wondered it was so. 

‘“‘T think you'are a remarkable person, Mrs. Clem- 
ent. Everybody seems to yield to your wishes, as 
_ though they were happier for so doing. Ann 38 con- 
tinually praising you up, and says she would not leave 
you for another mistress, for all.the world. She says, 
too, that you spend a great deal of time in talking to 
Mina about religious things, and telling her Bible 
stories. ‘That seems to me te be all nonsense! [ 
never tal to my children about such things; they ’il 
find ’em out themselves as they grow older.” | 

“‘T cannot agree with you there, Mrs. Kent. I 
think our children should very early be taught the 
difference between riglt and wrong, and then they - 
will be more apt to choose the right. 9 

“Of course, Mrs. Clement, I ‘teach mine that. I 


24 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


tell them it is dreadful wicked to lie and steal, and I 
should certainly whip them if I ever knew of their 
doing so. But I mean there’s no use in talking to 
children about religion and goodness half the time. 
It makes them too sober.” 

‘“T thought you approved of religious instruction 
for children, as you send yours to the Sunday-school,” 
said Mrs. Clement. 

‘“O, la! I send them because everybody else does, 
not because I’m so particular about their going. 
Pray, what good would going to Sunday-school, or 
all the good instructions in the world, do Clint 
Forrest ?” 

_ Mrs. Clement had been desirous of speaking of 
Clinton to Mrs. Kent. It was a delicate subject, and 
she knew not how to approach it, fearing to offend her 
neighbor, and thus do more harm than good. She 
said, gently, ‘Iam not sure but that it might im- 
prove him. You don’t believe he is wholly bad, do 
ou?” 
‘ ‘““'Yes, indeed I do, Mrs. Clement! I’ve wasted 
all the breath I ever shall in talking to him and 
telling him how he ought to do. I do verily believe 
he’s the worst child in the world!’’ She grew elo- 
quent, as. she often did, when talking of Clint’s wick- 
edness. ‘‘He is the great trial of my life. I said 
last winter that he should not stay with fs; that I 
would not try to do anything with him. But Mr. 
Kent has taken him in hand lately, and has got him 
a little broken under. He don’t dare to show out 
his ugliness as he used to.”’ 

Mrs. Clement saw with pain how impossible it was 
to awaken right feelings in Mrs. Kent’s heart, and 
with great tact turned ‘the subject; still thinking in 
her own mind of ways and means of befriending 
poor, friendless Clinton. 


CHAPTER CLL. 
THE POWER OF KINDNESS. 


- Miss Morris sat at the table, in her pleasant 
school-room, writing letters. It was a quiet and con- 
venient place for study, and she often brought her 
books or writing thither. The morning was bright 
and fair; and the gentle breezes dallied with the maps 
upon the walls, or stole softly through the room, sigh- 
ing, as if mourning for the sweet presence of the little 
throng that daily gathered there. A light step ar- 
rested her attention, and, looking up, she beheld Mina 
by her side, with a peace-offering of flowers. 

‘Here are some flowers for you, Miss Morris.” 

‘Thank you, Mina; they are very sweet. I hope 
my darling will not deny me a kiss this mornipg ?”’ 

Elmina clasped her arms around her t s neck, 
and presented her cherry mouth for a kiss’ ‘‘ Mamma 
thinks I was very wrong yesterday, and says I should 
ask you to forgive me. I am very sorry indeed, dear 
teacher.”’ 

‘Tt is easy for me to forgive you, little Mina, as 
you never were naughty before, and now ask pardon 
so sweetly.” And she sealed the forgiveness with 
another kiss. ‘' There, I hear Dora’s voice; run out 
and play till I ring the bell, for I wish to finish my 
letter.” She thought Mina had gone, and turned to 
her writing. A moment after, she was started with 


the sound of a sigh, and, turning her head, she per- 
(25) 






26 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


ceived the child still standing by her side, and regard- * 
ing her very wistfully. 

‘‘ What is it you wish to say, little one?” 

Her beautiful eyes deepened with expression and 
feeling, as she met the lady’s gaze; and, with a voice 
pleadingly, touchingly earnest, she said, ‘‘ You will 
love poor Clint?’ Then, as if fearful she had 
offended, she glided quickly away. 

“You will love poor Clint ?”’ Like new, strange 
music, did these words fall on the heart of little Clin- 
ton ; for he heard them. He had followed Elmina as 
she entered the school-room, and, hidden behind the 
door, heard all. that passed. ‘‘ Could any one love 
him, a ragged, dirty, wicked boy? Could the beau- 
tiful Elmina, the pet and idol of the village, love 
him?” The thought of a thing so joyful, but 
strange, brought a gush of tears from his eyes. 9, 
blessed tears!—the first ever brought from that long- 
sealed fountain of tenderness and feeling. They be- | 
dewed the wild flowers which he held in his hand, and 
made them holy things. 

These selfsame flowers Mina found upon her desk 
when the school commenced. As she took them up, 
wonderingly, she glanced at Clinton, and immediately 
knew, by his looks, that he had placed them there. 
Their language was, ‘‘that Clint was very sorry for 
his unkindness.”” At least she read it so; and with a 
glad smile she held them up to him significantly, nod- 
- ding her thanks. 

Clinton had watched her eagerly; and when he 
saw that she understood him, and prized the flowers, 
he hid his face with his book, for another gush of 
tears flooded his eyes. 

“You will love poor Clint?” Reprovingly, re- 
proachfully, did the words and tone come to the ear 
of Miss Morris. They wakened her to a keen sense 


THE POWER OF KINDNESS. 44 


of her error in her management of the wayward boy. 
They pointed out one path in which she had not tried 
to lead him, — the path of love. The duties of the 
day she performed mechanically, for she was. absent- 
minded and thoughtful ; questioning her own conduct, 
“talking with her past hours.’’ ‘‘ Had she performed 


‘all her duty towards the poor orphan boy? She had 


not!” Harnestly, oft prayerfully, as she had striven 
to be worthy of her high calling, she was conscious 
that she had sadly failed in the first, great duty of 
obtaining the love of all her charges. 

Miss Morris was not heartless. She had only 
fallen mto the common error of considermg Clinton 
as being incapable of yielding to the influence of 
kindness, and naturally had adopted a course of 
severity. QO, sad it was for her, but sadder still for 
the much-wronged boy! 

She blessed in her heart the angel-child who had. - 
unconsciously taught her her duty. She spoke 


_ kindly to Clinton, and strove to win him to her 


side with love; but it was too late! The school 
term closed in'three weeks, and it would have taken 
a much longer time to turn his ill-will to confidence 
and love. : , 

A few months later, and she was a happy bride, 
loving and beloved. But never did she cease to regret 
the golden opportunity she had lost, of blessing a 
poor, friendless child with her own love and kindness. 


About ten years before the-opening of our story, a 
young man, by the name of Forrest, and his delicate, 
pensive bride, came and settled in Oakville. He 
engaged a neat tenement, and lived: very happily, 
though frugally, with his sweet wife. It was evident 
that they depended upon his daily earnings, for he 
labored constantly, and with a right good will. They 


98 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


were from a distance, and strangers to all the vil- 
lagers. 

Those whose pleasure it was to visit them in their 
simple home spoke of the tender and beautiful love 
that existed between the young couple. The memory 
of some sorrow seemed to give.a look of quiet sadness 
to her pale, pensive countenance, which the husband 
seemed ever striving to remove by increasing affec- 
tion and tenderness. Perhaps he, in a measure, suc- 
ceeded, for she grew more cheerful, and they appeared 
happy as poor mortals can be. ; 

This pleasing state of things was not to last long. 
The spoiler entered their Eden. Death knocked at 
the portal, and went not away alone! . Mr. Forrest 
was violently seized with a fever, and in a few short 
days his lifeless body was laid beneath the green 
turf. 

The first outbreak of grief on the part of the young 
widow was overwhelming and terrible. But this soon 
subsided into a cold and stony apathy, that was even 
more distressing than her passionate sorrow. Her 
neighbors tried to arouse her by talking of her friends, 
and asking where they should send to find them. Her 
only reply was a mournful shake of the head, or a 
quivering sigh. They knew that they must soon lay 
her by her husband, for already the death-angel was 
hovermg near. After her fatherless babe was born, 
the dazzling brilliancy of her eye, with its expression 
of agony, told that she was fully conscious of her 
desolate and bereaved condition. She would lay for 
hours, regarding the tiny being by her side with a 
mournful tenderness that was indescribably touching. 
Good old Mrs. Wilkins, who took the care of Mrs. 
Forrest upon herself, did all in her power to restore 
her to life and health. But human aid was vain; the 

poor lady was hourly passing away, — ever with her 


THE POWER OF KINDNESS. 99 


eyes upon her babe, — ever with that pleading expres- 
sion of love! 

The sun was setting; and Mrs. Wilkins feared 
her patient would never see it rise again. She was 
exceedingly anxious to learn of the relatives of the 
mother, that she might know where to send the 
babe, and with great delicacy she approached the 
subject. 

‘‘ What shall we ar your baby, Mrs. Forrest?” 
she said to the dying woman. 

‘‘ We must have his father’s name, Clinton Edward 
Forrest; it is all I can a him, poor thing!” was 
the low answer. 

“Mrs. Forrest,’’ said the nurse again, ‘‘ do you not 
feel that God has called you; that you will soon meet 
your dear husband ?”’ 

A faint, sweet smile parted the wan lips of the 
sufferer, as she raised her fading eyes heavenward. 
‘She ’s most there, sure!’’ thought the old lady, as 
she wiped her tearful eyes. But she must be aroused 
from this torpor, else it would be too late ever to gain 
the so much desired information. 

“ Dear lady, you would not leave your babe alone in 
the world? Have you not strength to tell me where 
I may find his father’s friends ?”’ 

The words seemed to call her from the borders of 
the grave. With a look of sudden anguish she mur- 
mured, ‘OQ, no, no! but Clinton was an orphan — 
alone —”’ 

‘‘ But your friends, dear lady, tell me of them,” 
said Mrs. Wilkins, bending low to catch the broken 
and almost inaudible answer. 

‘Yes, send him to them; they will care — brothers 
will love my child —” ‘A spasm shook her frail 
form, and her eyes closed heavily. After a moment, 
seemingly of suspended life, the eyes opened with a 


30 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


quick gleam of intelligence. As she moved her hand 
feebly towards her babe, she murmured, ‘ Poor 
Clint —”’ The fair hand dropped cold and lifeless 
upon her breast; the lids closed over those eyes never 
to open again; the pulsation of that burdened heart 
had ceased forever ! 

Mrs. Wilkins bent over the clay in speechless 
erief. The mournful death of the young creature 
before her had shocked her kind heart; and she was 
filled with apprehensions for the fate of the little 
orphan. 

The proceeds of the simple furniture, when sold, 
barely covered the expenses of the sickness and death 
of the young couple; there was nothing left for the 
little one. Everybody was full of wonder and curi- 
osity concerning. the strange silence of Mrs. Forrest 
in regard to her friends. Even death could not repress 
slanderous tales, or evil and suspicious whisperings. 
But what should be done with the baby? Ah, there 
were many to ask, but none to answer, the question! 
Mrs. Wilkins would gladly have taken him to her 
heart, and cherished him as her own, but she was 
poor and dependent herself. 

What should be done with the baby? Alas! there 
was not one heart, not one home open to receive it. 
It was carried to the poor-house. Sad fate it was for 
the tender germ of humanity ! 

The matron of the house was a busy, bustling 
woman, with a host of duties on her hands. She fed 
the baby when she did not forget it, and washed and 
dressed it when she had time. Sickly, and always 
pining for the want of proper care and nourishment, 
it was a peevish and fretful babe. The matron 
declared she despised the pale, cross thing, and every 
one in the establishment echoed the sentiment. ‘There 
were no loving arms to fold around the little one; no 


THE POWER OF KINDNESS. 31 


tender breast to pillow his weary head; no careful 
eyes to watch his infant steps; no kind voice to win 
his heart to love and goodness! 

When he became old enough to play out of doors 
he grew robust and strong. At the age of three years 
he was a sturdy little fellow, whose-striking charac- 
teristics were an obstinate spirit, and a passionate 
temper. Neglect and unkindness had not made him 
timid or fearful. All the evil passions of his nature 
were daily brought into active exercise, while good 
and noble emotions were never awakened. At school 
he early distinguished himself for wilful disobedience 
and impudence, and soon earned the reputation of 
being the worst boy in school.. He looked upon all 
the scholars as his enemies; and, consequently, he 
was insolent and quarrelsome. A year before the 
commencement of our tale he was placed in the family 
of Mr. Kent, who was to receive pay for his board 
until he arrived at the age of eleven years. 

Mr. Kent promised to give him the shoemaker’s 
trade, and set him up in business, if he did well and 
was a good boy. People thought he was perfectly 
safe in making this conditional promise, as there was 
small prospect of Clint’s ever becoming remarkably 
good. Clinton was little better off in his new home, 
though, being under stricter government, some of his 
evil habits were restrained. Had Mrs. Kent tried to 
gain his love she would easily have succeeded, -for his 
heart was nearly bursting with the desire for affec- 
tion. A kind word, a little forbearance on her part, 
would have soon secured respectful and grateful obe- 
dience. But she was ignorant of her duty to the 
orphan, and never addressed a word to him, except 
to command or reprove. 

Reader, do you know a child like Clinton, — way- 
ward, full of childish errors, yet needing, more than 


ow 


32 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


all things else, sympathy and love? Do you know 
of a fatherless and motherless one, whom fortune 
seems ever to frown upon? Is there near you a 
little, throbbing, aching heart, growing cold and hard 
for a want of kindly counsel? 0, speak tenderly to 
him! A word may help him, a sentence may save 
him ! 





CHAPTER IV. 
THE ORPHAN’S THANKSGIVING. 


THANKSGIVING-DAY had arrived—that time-hon- 
ored New England festival—that “feast of good 
things ’’— that reunion of kindred and loving hearts 
— that home jubilee. What a busy, bustling, happy 
time! How the children hasten to join the “ old 
folks at home!’’ How the brothers and sisters, 
uncles and aunts, and cousins, gather around the fes- 
tive board in the dear old farm-house ! Hard, indeed, 
it is for those whom fortune denies the privilege of 
visiting ‘‘the loved ones at home’’ on this the glad 
day of the year. What joyful greetings — what 
hearty hand-shakings — what laughter — what telling 
of news — what a destruction of edibles — O, what a 
host of pleasures crowd into this Thanksgiving-day ! 

Thanksgiving-day! The “dew of feeling” moist- 
ens the eye, as the memory of happy thanksgivings 
presses upon the heart. Perhaps the light of a beauti- 


‘ful eye is quenched in night; perchance a beloved voice 


is hushed in death. ‘There are vacant seats at the 
table, there are desolate hearth-stones, and there are 
broken links in the chain of love. Perhaps the 
mourning heart says, in its sorrow, ‘‘ There are no 
more thanksgivings for me. I will go down to the 
grave sorrowing for,the loved afd lost.’’ 

Christian, count thy blessings, if thou canst. There 


are other aching hearts, other lacerated bosoms than 
3 (83) 


34 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


thine. Go, ‘visit the widow and fatherless in their 
affliction; ’’? go, ‘‘ speak comfort to the sorrowing,”’ 
and thy life shall be one long Thanksgiving. 

There was much running hither and thither in Mr. 
Kent’s household on this Thanksgiving morning. 
Extra preparations had been made on this occasion ; 
for a score of relatives were expected to celebrate the 
day with them. Mrs. Kent’s ample store-room was 
filled to overflowing with every variety of baked 
meats, rich pies and cakes, with innumerable nameless 
dainties. Mrs. Kent was here, and there, and every- 
Where, arranging this or that, and directing Betty, 
who was dressing the great turkey. Miss Jane was 
frettmg for fear her dress, which was still at the 
mantua-maker’s, would not be completed in time 
for her to dress for dinner. Master Bill was order- 
ing every one, and strutting about, full of importance. 

For once, Clint forgot to be either cross or unhappy. 
Everybody. was so cheerful and busy, that he was glad 
to be cheerful and busy too. He willingly went, 
for the third time that morning, to inquire if Jane’s 
dress was finished. It was just completed, and the 
mantua-maker was carefully wrapping it in paper. 
Jane received it with delight, and hastened away to 
array herself in it. 

‘Here, Clint, you lazy dog, take my boots and 
black ’em!”’ cried Bill. 

Clint had gone to work with a right good will, 
when Jane returned to display herself to the admiring 
eyes of Betty. 

“OQ my! Miss Jane, you look fit for a queen,”’ 
cried Betty, to the great satisfaction of the vain girl. 
Jane was really looking finely. Her beautiful dark 
hair was arranged verg tastefully, and the new dress, 
which was of blue thibet, richly embroidered, set off 
her delicate complexion to advantage. : 


or 


THE ORPHAN’S THANKSGIVING. 3 


“Do you think so, Betty?” said Jane, with 
sparkling eyes. ‘I wonder if cousin Fred will call 
me handsome, as he did last Thanksgiving, when we 
were at grandpa’s?” 

‘“T dare say he will,” said Betty. ‘But you 
must n’t stay in this dirty kitchen, or you will spoil 
your fine dress.’’ 

As Jane swept by Clinton, she brushed his arm 
so rudely that a quantity of blacking, in the brush 
which he held in his hand, was spattered upon the ° 
skirt of her beloved dress. Though it was an acci- 
dent, and she the only one to blame, she fell into a 
violent rage with Clint. 

‘You envious, hateful boy! you have spoiled my 

beautiful dress. I know you did it on purpose; you 
could n’t bear to see me looking so well, so you 
blacked my dress.”’ 
_ Clint was really sorry for the mischief he had 
done, but he wouldn’t say so; and continued his 
work very quietly. His apparent indifference exas-— 
perated her so much the more, and she cried, pas- 
sionately, ‘‘ You deserve to be half killed, Clint 
Forrest! Don’t care, do you? I should black your 
face for you!” 

‘What is the matter, Jane?”’ said Mrs. Kent, 
advancing into the room. 

‘Just look at my dress, mother,”’ said Jane, half 
crying. ‘‘Clint threw some blacking on it. He 
could n’t be satisfied with blacking Bill’s boots, so he 
must black my dress.”’ 

“Ts that true?” said Mrs. Kent, angrily. 

‘Yes, indeed, it is, ma’m,’’ said Betty, who always 
joined with the rest in the cry against Clinton. “TI 
saw him doit myself.” 

‘You wicked boy!” cried Mrs. Kent, seizing him 
by the arm, and shaking him violently. “ 1’ll see if 


OBO THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


I can’t teach you better than that!. IfI didn’t ex- 
pect my company every minute, I’d get a stick and 
whip you till you couldn’t stand! But you an’t 
going unpunished. You shan’t have one mouthful of 
Thanksgiving dinner. Betty, you see that he has 
nothing but brown bread and milk.’’ 

Betty promised obedience, and Mrs. Kent turned 
to examine more particularly the injury her daugh- . 
ter’s dress had sustamed. 

“Tt isn’t quite spoiled, after all, Jane. It can be 
easily repaired ; for the spot is close to the seam. You 
can wear-your silk apron, and that will hide it, to-day.’’ 

The mother and daughter, went away to smooth 
their ruffled tempers before the arrival of their ex- 
pected guests. Clinton looked after them with a 
heart swelling, almost bursting with anger. He 
clinched his fist, and set his teeth tightly together, in 
a sort of suppressed fury. He would have flown 
after them, and torn them in pieces, so terrible was’ 
his passion. * His mind could not remain long in this 
state, and his wrath quickly subsided. He thought 
- of the delicious feast which he had been anticipating ; 
he thought of the expected company. He had fancied 
that he should enjoy seeing the children play, and 
perhaps, as they didn’t know how bad he was, they 
would ask him to join their games. He sobbed with 
grief as he thought that all his enjoyment for the day 
was spoiled. He had incurred the displeasure of 
Mrs. Kent, and he knew the consequences by sad 
experience. 

Soon he heard laughter and gay greetings in the 
parlor, and he knew that the visitors had arrived. 
“Why have n’t I any friends?” thought he. ‘‘ Why 
is there no one glad to see me? QO, I know Thanks- 
giving-days were not made for such boys as me; for 
i’ve nothing in the world to be thankful for !” 





THE ORPHAN’S THANKSGIVING. oe | 


When dinner was nearly ready, he crept into the 
hall, close to the dining-room door. The tinkling of 
glasses, the rattling of cups, and the clatter of knives 
and forks, were tantalizing to the poor hungry boy. 
A flurry of snow was whitening the ground; the 
outer door was ‘open, and the chilly wind swept 
through the hall, making him shiver with cold. Still 
_ he refhained there, listening, as if in fascination, to the 
conversat f the happy company gathering in the 
dining-room. ‘There was a momentary hush, and he 
heard a manly voice craving the blessing of God 
before they partook of his bounty. A scornful 
- gmile played over Clint’s features as he said to him- 
self, ‘‘O, yes, they can sit down to their grand 
dinner, and ask God to bless them, while they don’t 
care if Clint starves!”’ : 

After a short time the parlor-door opened, and a 
little boy, elegantly dressed, came and steod upon 
the door-step. He held out his fat, dimpled hap, 
and laughed a happy laugh, to see the snow-flakes 
melt upon it. Clint watched him eagerly, and wished 
that he was as beautiful and happy. Presently a 
lady appeared, and said, in a sweet voice, ‘‘ Willie, 
dear, 1’m afyaid you will take cold if you stand at 
the door. You had better come in with mamma.” 
She took his hand gently, and looked into his laugh- 
ing face with an expression of pride and love. 

This little scene affected Clinton strangely. He 
felt more keenly than before his desolate condition, 
and he began to weep. He feared some one would 
hear him, and he rushed out of the house, scarcely 
knowing what he did es: 


Dr. Clement’s family were gatltered in the cheerful 
parlor. The glowing grate and sperm candles filled 
the room with a brilliant light; the curtains were. 


oS THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


drawn down early, that, as Frank said, it might seem 
like a real winter evening. Mrs. May and her little 
Dora were their only guests; for they had no rela- 
tives near who could come to keep Thanksgiving with 
them. 

Lhe elder people were conversing cheerfully to- 
gether, and the little folks were seated at a table, 
playing a game of ‘‘ Dr. Busby,” with lively iffferest. 
Altogether it was just such a cheerfulhappy group 
as you doubtless have often helped to form. 

Ann came in to ask if they would have tea in the 
dining-room, or whether it should be brought into the 
parlor. 

‘‘O, bring it in here, if you please, Ann!” cried 
Elmina ; ‘it is so bright and pleasant here that we 
should like it much.” = 

“Ves, let’s have it in here,” said Frank. “Tt 
will be much pleasanter.”’ 

Dr. Clement laughed as he bade Ann do as the 
children desired. When she came in again to spread 
the crumb-cloth, she said, ‘‘ Clint Forrest is in the 
kitchen, looking as though he had cried himself half 
to death, and shivering and shaking like the ague. 
I’ve no idea that Mrs. Kent has given him a mouth- 
ful of Thanksgiving dinner.” 

“T don’t believe she has, either,’’ said Frank. ‘Tt 
would be just hke her not to.” 

‘Hush, Frank,’”’ said his mother; ‘‘you are 
speaking ill of another, and of a lady: too.” | 

‘‘T don’t think I was any too harsh, mother; but 
I will not speak so again if you think it wrong.”’ 

“T am unwilling to think so badly of any one,” 
said Mrs. Clinton. ‘‘ You know we should not judge 
others.” 

‘Dora and I may go out and speak to Clint, may 
we not, mamma?’’ said Mina. ~ 


4 


i 


THE ORPHAN’S THANKSGIVING. 39 


“ Certainly, my love ; and, if he is unhappy, try to 
make him feel better.”’ 

They found Clint crouching ever the kitchen fire. 
His hair hung wildly about his face, and his eyes were 
swollen and distended with crying. 

‘Why, Clint,” said Mina, “how woful you look ! 
What is the matter ?”’ 

Clint turned his red eyes upon her, without saying 
a word. 

‘You should look happy to-day, Clint, for it is 
Thanksgiving-day,’’ said Dora. 

‘What’s Thanksgiving-day to me, I’d like to 
know?” said Clint, moodily. ‘‘I should think you’d 
know that I have n’t anything to be thankful for.” 

‘Not anything, Clint? An’t you thankful that 
you are alive and well?” 

‘No, not that! I wish I was dead, I do!” 

The little girls were shocked. ‘‘I’m very sorry 
for you,’’ said Mina, tearfully. ‘‘ Dora and I have 
been as happy as birds all day, playing, and laughing, 
and singing.” 

‘‘ And I have been crying, and freezing, and starv- 
ing, all day,” said Clint, bitterly. 

“Starving!” cried Mina and Dora, with grief and 
terror. ‘‘ Starving, Clint!” 

‘Don’t be frightened, girls,’ said Clint. ‘‘I an’t 


dead yet, for I had some supper last night.” 


‘‘ But have n’t you had anything to eat to-day?” 
asked Dora, in great anxicty.- 

‘No. I forgot to eat any breakfast, I was so busy 
doing errands; and Mrs. Kent said that, to punish 
me, [ should n’t have anything but brown bread and 
milk for my dinner. I would n’t eat that, when they 
had such a nice dinner, if I starved !”’ 

‘ Neither would I, Clint, if I were you,” said Dora. 
**T would n’t live with such a mean woman.” 


40 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


‘©Q dear, I can’t help myself!”’ said Clint, resum- 
ing his moody look and tone. 

“T will run and ask my mother to come out 
here,’ said Mina. ‘I know she will give you 
_ some supper.” 

Mrs. Clement soon appeared, and arranged, with 
her own hand, a tempting supper for Clint. But the 
poor boy was too sick and unhappy to eat. His long 
stay out of doors, together with crying, made him 
feel quite ill. He pushed the plate away, and sobbed 
out that “he was too sick to eat; that his head ached 
dreadfully.” 

“T do not doubt it, poor boy,’’ said Mrs. Clement, 
‘for it feels very hot to my hand.” She gently 
bathed the aching head, and smoothed his tangled 
hair; meanwhile, talking so soothingly and kindly, 
that his sad heart was filled with gratitude. 

Dr, Clement said the boy would be ill with a’ fever 
unless he was doctored. He led him home, and bade 
Betty bathe his feet in warm water, and’ make him 
drink plentifully of ginger-tea. Betty was naturally 
kind-hearted, and, conscience telling her that Clint 
had been used too hardly, she obeyed the doctor’s 
orders to the very letter. 


os 


CHA PLE Ret V., 


SCHOOL SCENES. 


—— ‘* may prove, 
Though some may wonder at his weakness, 
The power that lurks in simple love, 
The might of meekness !”’ 


GENTLE, sunny, smiling spring had changed the 
frowns of winter into tears, which April poured upon 
the earth, bringing to life the sleeping flowers, to 
adorn’ the robe of*her sister May. ‘The children 
clapped their hands and shouted; the birds trilled 
their glad notes in ecstasy; the cascades and waterfalls 
bounded and dashed along, as if mad with delight ; 
the waving trees whispered to each other of their 
happiness, and all nature laughed in the sunny 
spring-time ! 

The old red school-house, which had ee closed 
for two months, was now opened, and troops of happy 
school children were hastening to make it echo again 
to the hum of their voices, and brighten in the light 
of their smiles. 

Elmina and Dora started early, that they might 
have time to go to “Happy Nook.” ‘They were 
rejoiced to find that spring had not forgotten to visit 
it before them; they thought the brook was wider 
than ever before, the grass greener, and the little 
star-flowers that ‘hid themselves at the foot of the 
rock were fairer and brighter. x 

. (41) 


a 





rns 


49, THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


Something splashing in the water started them, and 
they saw Clinton Forrest lying on the bank close to 
the brook. He smiled, and showed them his pockets 
full of pebbles. 

‘What are you going to do with them, Clinton?” 

asked Mina. 

“OQ, I’m going to roll them round the school- 
house, to plague the ‘school-marm.’ Won't it be 
fun ?” 

‘What do you want to plague her for, Clint? 
You don’t know but Miss Lee will be very kind.” 

‘‘ But she won’t be kind to me, — teachers never 
are; they always hate me, and I like to plague ’em. 
And I am growing large,” he continued, stretching 
himself to hig full height. ‘‘I won’t be whipped by 
a woman many times more! O, I shall have glori- 
ous times this summer! {I shall tease the teacher till 
she “ll wish she had never come to Oakville.”’ 

Elmina looked at him sadly. ‘Clinton, had n’t 
you rather be a good boy, and try to please your 
teacher ? Perhaps. Miss Lee wants to love all her 
scholars, and she will feel sad to have you so 
naughty.” 

“Tt is of no use for me to try to be good, I’m 
so wicked. They all ay that I am the worst boy in 
school.” 

“Yes, there is use in it!” cried Elmina. ‘Do 
try, Clint, just to please me. Be a good boy all sum- 
mer, and we all shall love you. I don’t think you are 
the worst boy — do try and be the best.” 

Her words produced some effect on him, and he 
began to drop the pebbles one by one upon the grass. 
‘‘ But I am so ragged and dirty, Elmina; I believe 
that is half what makes me so bad.” 

‘You needn't be dirty,” said Dora; “you can 

wash your hands and face in the brook.” 


SCHOOL SCENES. 43 


‘So Ican. Inever thought of that.” So. saying, 
he threw the last stone into the water, and, kneeling 
on the bank, thoroughly washed himself. Mina took 
a comb from her pocket and smoothed his glossy black 
hair. 

“OQ, Clint, you look quite handsome!” cried Dora, 
gleefully. | 

‘Yes, indeed, you do,” said Mina. ‘You may 
have this little comb for your own, and then you can 
always keep your hair smooth. Now you are going 
to be a real good boy, an’t you, Clint?” 

“Tl try, dear, sweet, little Mina; but 16 won’t 
do much good.’ 

‘There goes the nine o'clock bell,” said Dora. 
‘How late we have stayed! Come, Clint, you go 
with us.” 

As the three children came up the bank behind the 
school-house, Mr. Kent, who was passing by, cried 
out, “‘Ah, Clint! I’ve caught you. Trying to be 
tardy the first day, are you? It is past school-time, 
you lazy boy. Come along, and I’ll give you an 
introduction to the teacher. _ She needs a little warn- 
ing about such a precious fellow as you.” 

Mr. Kent took him by the arm, and pulled him into 
the house. ‘‘ Here, Miss Lee,” he said, addressing a 
beautiful young lady who stood near the door, ‘‘ here 
is Clinton Forrest. He is a promising youth, I tell 
you. He needs a flogging twice a day, to keep him 
Within bounds. I will uphold you in governing him; 
s0 you needn’t spare the rod.” 

‘¢T will do the best I can for your son, sir.” 

‘He is no son of mine, I’d have you understand, 
. miss. He has no relations ’round here; and we have 
concluded that he is a relative of the Evil One. He’s 
a trial, believe me. I thought it might save you some 
trouble if I warned you.” 


Ae 


it 


2 


44 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


Dora and Elmina threw after the retreating form 
of Mr. Kent most indignant glances. After such an 
introduction as that, they feared Clint would fulfil all 
his pleasant prophecies. They watched the counte- 

nance of Miss Lee, who, with a look of pity, placed 
her white hand on Clint’s finely-shaped head. 

‘‘T think the gentleman said your name is Clinton. 
That is'a pretty name; and I am fond of pleasant 
names.”’ 

Clint was looking hard upon the ground. The 
cheerful light, which a few minutes before brightened 
his face, was now darkened, and the happy feeling in 
his heart was changed to resentment. Miss Lee saw 
how it was, and endeavored to remove these feelings. 

‘‘T hope you are a good scholar, Clinton; for, if 
you are not one already, I know by the form of your 
head that you can learn readily. Look up, my boy, 
and see if you don’t agree with me, in thinking we 
shall be excellent friends.” 

Clint threw a sidelong Sauces at her, and hastened 

to his seat, while she turned with a winning smile to 
the other scholars. He eagerly studied the personal 
appearance of Miss Lee. The survey was very satis- 
‘factory to him, for he pronounced her, in his own 
mind, an angel; there instantly sprung up in his 
heart a reverence that ‘he had never felt for any one 
before. 
. Josephine Lee was well worthy the love and admi- 
ration which she inspired in the hearts of her pupils. 
Her beautiful brown eye expressed the kindliest emo- 
tions. Her face was one of rare loveliness, whose 
greatest charm was.a_ mingled expression of intellect 
and sweetness. 

She had not lightly or carelessly assumed the holy 
and responsible duties of a teacher; an earnestness, 
a depth of purpose expressed itself i in every word and 


SCHOOL SCENES. 45 


motion. She would not labor alone in the priceless 
mines of intellect, but would strive to mould aright 
‘the moral natures, the affections of her pupils. Every 
look, every word of hers might influence some un- 
formed character, and her hourly endeavor was that 
this influence might be pure and good. 

Josephine was shocked at the unkind words of Mr. 
Kent, in introducing Clinton to her. She trembled 
at the thought of the responsibility resting upon her 
in the care of such a boy. ‘This she resolved, how- 
ever, that, as severity had hitherto failed to improve 
him, she would try the potency of love and kindness. 
There was something about the countenance of the 
boy that drew her irresistibly towards him. Once, 
when she observed him regarding her with a pleading 
look, a strange and sudden feeling brought the pearl- 
drop to her eye. From that moment she loved the 
little, friendless boy, and, with all the energy of her 
enthusiastic nature, she sought to lead him to the 
‘‘oreen pastures’’ and beside the ‘living waters.” 

Clinton remembered what his teacher said about 
his capacity for learning, and he devoted himself in- 
cessantly to study the whole day. Those who had 
heard him boast of the fun he was going to have in 
vexing the teacher, laughed at him, and tried to get 
him into a quarrel at recess. ‘‘O, Clint is terrible 
good all at once!” said Jane Kent. ‘‘ Miss Lee flat- 
tered him up a little; but you wait a day or two, and 
see if he don’t commence his old pranks.” 

“Tf I were you, Jane,” said Frank Clement, ‘TI 
would encourage him to be good, instead of laughing 
at him.” 

‘Wonder if Frank Clement has n’t taken sides 
against us?” cried Bill Kent. 

“If he has, we will pitch battle on him, instead 


46 . THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


of Clint. He’ll like that famously,’ shouted John 
Carter. | 

The two boys set up a derisive laugh, in which a | 
few others joined. But the majority of them waited 
for Frank’s reply; for he was a great favorite with 

them. 

— * Boys,” said Frank, taking off his hat, and step- 
ping upon a log, like ae‘stump-orator,” ‘boys, you 
know, and I know, that Clint Forrest has always 
been abused! He could n’t have been a decent boy 
if he had tried. I see our teacher thinks she can 
make something of him, and I am going to help her. 
Sister Mina and Dora May are already his friends, 
and I count myself one from this minute. And I’ll 
say this for you, boys, that he who tries to hinder him 
from becoming better and more respected, is meaner 
than I ever wish to be!” 

The tide of favor turned in behalf of Clinton. It. — 
was amazing to see how the scholars patronized him, 
and protected him from the assaults of the ‘‘ enemy,”’ 
as they styled the few who would not respond to 
Frank’s speech. When Clinton continued to. go to 
school with clean hands and face, and smooth hair, 
and still continued to be studious and obedient, the 
older and more thoughtful ones felt reproaches of 
conscience that they had not been kinder to him be- 
fore. He was like one in a happy dream, and, very 
unlike his former self, gentle and submissive. 

The winning kindness of Miss Lee, together with 
_ the good-will of his playfellows, acted like a charm 
upon Clinton. For weeks there was no better boy in 
school. But he lacked principle, and the influence 
of former good habits, to keep him in the right way. 
He gradually flagged in his study; grew indolent, 
-and often grieved his gentle teacher by his miscon- 
duct. Josephine was partly prepared for this reac- 


7 


? 
SCHOOL SCENES. 47 


tion. Young and inexperienced as she was, she 
understood human nature too well to think the heart, 
rendered cold and distrustful by long neglect and 
cruelty, could so easily be imbued with love and con- 
fidence. Habits of indolence and disobedience are 
hard to overcome, and Clinton had little to encourage 
him in well-doing. 

O, how earnestly did that youthful teacher strive 
to lead her wayward pupil into higher and brighter 
paths! Clinton loved the sweet girl who was so 
gentle and patient with him; but he did not under- 
stand her, he could not appreciate her. Sometimes 
he made feeble efforts to regain her good opinion ; but 
he was drawn backward by the power of his whole 
previous life. . 

One Monday morning, William and Jane Kent, and 
Clinton, were absent from school. Upon inquiry, Miss 
Lee found that William and Jane had gone to the city 
to spend a week. ‘But where is Clinton?” she 
asked of a bright-eyed boy near her. 

“QO, I guess Clint is going to try his old fashion 
of playing truant !”’ 

The little Yankee was right; for Clint was not seen 
in school that week. 

Saturday night, when the last busy little form had 
passed gayly over the threshold, when the last sweet 
‘“‘ sood-night’’ had been said, Josephine sat alone in 
the hushed school-room. <A pile of copy-books were 
before her; but these arranged, and her week’s work 
would be done. As she reviewed the week, the voice 
of conscience was sweet and approving ; and her heart 
Was tuned to happy and pleasing emotions. While 
bending dreamily over her task, a harsh voice jarred 
on the ‘harmony of her feelings. 

‘‘ Here, Miss Lee, I’ve brought you the rogue! 
cried Mr. ‘Kent, as he rudely dragged Clinton Forrest 


199 


eka" a An) aa 


“3 


48 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


into her presence. ‘‘ Why, he has been playing truant | 
for a week, and I did not find it out till to-night. 
Don’t you ‘look at me so, you young rascal!” he 
continued, angrily shaking ‘the scowling boy. ‘I’ve 
given him one good flogging, miss, and now I’ve 
brought him here for you to punish; and I hope you 
will do your duty by hin.” 

‘‘T shall endeavor to do my duty, sir,” was the 
firm, but gentle reply. 

After answering a few inquiries about his family, 
the angry man went away, leaving Josephine and the 
young “culprit alone. 

Stubborn resolution spoke loudly in the attitude of 
the boy, whose head was thrown proudly back, while 
he eyed Josephine with a defiant air. Though ‘he had 
suffered for his misconduct, he was nothing softened. 
Josephine looked upon him more sorrowfully than 
reproachfully. He could not bear that look, and 
dropped his head suddenly. One fair hand was laid 
"mid his dark locks, while the other clasped gently his 
unresisting hand. As yet, no word had been spoken; 
but the whole appearance of the boy was changed. 


. Josephine’s resolution was taken. This should be “the 


golden moment that should fill that child-heart with 
true penitence and new-born resolutions. 

‘ Clinton, sit down by me, I want to talk with you 
a while.’ 

The child wonderingly obeyed. 

‘‘T am going to tell you a true story about myself, 
Clinton. Not long ago I lived with a kind father 
and mother, and two dear brothers. We were very 
happy, till one sad day my oldest brother went away,” 
and I have never heard from him since. Then my 
dear father and mother died, and Charlie and I were 
left alone. O, how I loved ‘little Charlie! He was 
a dear little fellow, just about your size, with black 


ig 


SCHOOL SCENES. 49 


eyes and curly hair. The first few days of school, 
when you were a good boy, I thought you were like 
him. But the good God loved him better than I, and 
took him, too, to heaven. Q, Clint, I was so sad and 
lonely, then!” 

She ceased speaking, and wept silently. Clinton 
forgot everything but his interest in the story, and 
leaned his head upon her shoulder. 

‘“‘ When I came to Oakville,” she resumed, ‘‘I was 
a stranger ; but I-soon found friends among my schol- 
ars. ‘There was one that reminded me of my little 
brother that died; and my heart went out to him in 
love. People told me. that he wasn’t a good boy; 
that he would return my love in bad conduct; but I 
did n’t believe it. .When I learned that he,:too, was 
--& lonely orphan, I loved him all the more. I said 
to myself that I would have him for my brother ; 
and every morning have I prayed God to bless him. 
Clinton, do you know who that little boy is ?”’ 

The child bowed his head. 

‘How do you think my love and kindness have 
been returned ? ” | 

Clinton did not heed the question; but asked, in a 
trembling voice, ‘‘ Did you really thmk I might be 
your brother? Is it true that you prayed for me?” 

‘* Do you not believe my word, Clinton ?”’ 

‘Yes, O, yes — but if I had only known it ! —if 
I could have known it!’’ And he burst into a pas- 
sion of tears. There was a depth of anguish, of self- 
reproach, in the tones, that thrilled Josephine’s heart. 

“Tf Thad known that you loved me so, I would 
have been so good! I would have done anything for 
yous But I’ve been very bad, and still you prayed 
for me —- O, dear!” 

He wept so bitterly that Josephine was much affected. 
She had not thought to touch his heart so deeply. She 

i 4. 


50 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


‘soothed him with kindness, and then’ told himvaf ‘his 


good Father in heaven; of His infinite love. She 
tried to impress upon his mind good resolutions. She 
showed him that the reward of obedience is happiness, 
and that of disobedience is misery. 
‘¢ Nobody ever told me that, before, Miss Lee. Mrs.. 
Kent told me that God hated such a wicked boy as I. 


'. She said ’t would do no good for me to go to meeting 
_or Sunday-school, for I was so bad. But, if God is 


really my Father, I will try to be good; if he loves 
me, I will be good!” 

‘“‘Then,”’ said Josephine, joyfully, ‘‘I shall not be 
sorry that I have borne with your faults. I shall be - 
proud to call you brother ! ”’ 

Clinton sprang to his feet. Newly awakened con- 
fidence and hope shone brightly on his tearful face. 
He caught her hand and covered it with kisses. 
‘‘ Dear Miss Lee,” he cried, ‘‘ you shan’t say again 
that I returned your love in bad conduct. You shall 
yet be proud of me!” 

Such is the influence of love! O, how many chil- 
dren, poor and friendless, are treading the downward 
path, and there is no hand stretched forth to save ! 


‘¢ The heart must * 
Leap kindly back to kindness.’’ 


CHA Prin Vi. 


PLANS FOR CLINTON’S IMPROVEMENT. 


‘¢ The bud that cold winds nipt at first, 
A happier lot may know ; 
In warmer airs to life may burst, 
_ In brighter sunshine glow.”’ 


‘ GOOD-EVENING, dear Josephine; Iam truly happy 
to see you,” said Mrs. Clement, affectionately embrac- 
ing her young friend. There was a sincerity in her 
tones, which:made her youthful guest perfectly at 


home, and sent a glow of grateful feeling to the 


heart. Kindred spirits are’ quick to recognize each 
other. Noble and pure minds are attracted with 
instinctive confidence. The most elevated friend- 
ships are not always the result of long and con- 
tinued intercourse, or similarity of age and circum- — 
stances. It is the affinity of mind and heart that 
links two souls with an invisible, yet ever-strengthen- 
ing chain. Mrs. Clement had already learned to 
love Josephine Lee almost as a young and guileless 
sister. The beautiful earnestness with which she 
performed her new and arduous duties, the united 
gentleness and energy of her character, won the love 
and admiration of Mrs. Clement. Josephine, on her 
part, fully appreciated the worth of the regard of such 
a woman, and returned her friendship with an enthu- 
siastic, reverential affection, which was truly character- 


istic. Josephine confided the story of her life.to Mrs. 
(51) ° 


UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS 
: LIBRARY. 


52 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


Clement, and was rewarded with that sympathy 
which is so grateful to a heart made sensitive by the 
breath of affliction. Now she had come to her friend 
for encouragement and advice. It was just after her 
affecting interview with Clinton Forrest, and she 
desired the influence of Mrs. Clement in forwarding 
her plans for his improvement. 

Perhaps a few words here, in reference to Joseph- 
ine’s previous life, may not be out of place. Three 
years had passed since her elder brother ran away 
to sea. He had been a wayward boy, causing his 
friends much grief, and this last act broke the father’s 
heart. Mr. Lee’s health had been declining for some 
time, and he now sank rapidly into the arms of death. 
Mrs. Lee soon followed him to that unseen shore, and 
Josephine and little Charlie were left alone. The 
little boy languished with some hidden disease, and, 
after months of patient watching by his bedside, the 
weeping sister laid him beside his sleeping parents. 

Poor Josephine! it seemed as though her young 
heart would break. There were kind friends to wipe 
away her tears, and speak sweet words of sympathy ; 
but he whose manly arm should have been her sup- 
port was far away, an erring wanderer. 

But our young friend was not one to sit down and 
brood over her*sorrows; and, when the first storm of 
grief had subsided, she ‘resolved to procure a situation 
as teacher. The family with whom she then resided 
begged her to stay with them, for they loved her, and 
would gladly have called her their daughter. Though 
she thanked them with a grateful heart, the independ- 
ence of her spirit would not allow her to accept the 
proffered kindness. 

When Josephine Lee went to Oakville, the tendrils 
of her heart were bleeding and torn, but ready to 
twine again round new and worthy objects. The 


PLANS FOR CLINTON’S IMPROVEMENT. 53 


affection that she craved was almost spontaneously 
yielded her by all who came within the sphere of her 
influence. She seemed to possess a magical power 
over the hearts of her pupils; and when the parents 
of those children looked upon her face, eloquent with 
purity and truth, they felt that they had trusted them 
to a gentle and virtuous guide. 

Elmina observed the unusual warmth of her mother’s 
greeting; for, though she was uniformly kind and 
polite to all, the child felt that there was a bond of 
- respect and affection between her beloved mother and 
dear teacher. She sprang forward with a joyful face, 
exclaiming, “‘O, mamma, I am glad you love our 
darling, Josie Lee so much!” 

The two ladies exchanged expressive glances, and 
then Josie bent down and caressed the lovely Mina. 
There were tears in her eyes, of mingled pleasure and 
pain; for the warmth of her welcome, and the loving 
tones of Mina, brought vividly to her mind the dear 
faces of her ‘‘ loved and lost.” 

‘Why do you ery, dear teacher?” said the child. 
“ An’t you glad I love you so much?” 

‘Yes, darling, your love is very precious to me. 
It made me think how my brother Charlie loved his 
sister Josie.” . 

‘QO, tell me about that little Charlie, please, Miss 
hee 174 

‘‘T will tell you about him some time, Mina, but 
to-night I wish to talk with your mamma about poor 
Clinton Forest.”’ 

““Q yes, do talk about Clint!” said Elmina, “ for 
I know you will say kind words about him.’ She 
placed her cricket between her mother and Josephine, 
and folded her hands demurely to listen to the con- 
versation. 

Josephine modestly and briefly related the story of 


54 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


her interview with Clinton in the school-room. His 
evident contrition gave her hope that she might suc- 
ceed in her plan of making him better and happier. 
Mrs. Clement listened with pleasure and admiration. 

‘‘That was nobly done, my dear Josie. I see you 
understand something of human nature. If there is 
anything that will make him better, it is love and 
kindness. The poor boy has received but little of 
either, I fear.”’ 

‘“‘Tt is evident he has not,” said Josephine; ‘ for 
he appeared really overcome by my expressions of 
affection and confidence. I have great hopes of him 
yet, for I am satisfied that his natural gifts of mind 
and heart are truly superior.” 

‘‘T agree with you perfectly,’’ said Mrs. Clement; 
‘he is not a vicious-looking boy. He often comes in 
here of an errand, and I have seen his young face 
radiant with gratitude, and his eyes full of tears, at 
just a kindly word from me. My httle Mina, here, 


has always been his champion, and one reason why | 


she loves you so very dearly is because of your 
patience with Clinton.’’ ! 

“Tam glad you approve of my course with him, 
Mrs. Clement. I have felt anxious and discouraged, 
so many have told me that I was altogether wrong 
in hoping to reform him by persuasion. I find that 
he has never received any religious instruction. Do 
you not think that, if he should go regularly to meet- 
ing and Sunday-school, it might have a good effect ? 
I should be glad to receive him into my class in the 
Sabbath-school.”’ rs cis 

“Indeed, Josephine, I think it very important 
that he should go to the Sunday-school. But there 
is one difficulty; Mrs. Kent will, I fear, oppose his 
going; and you know it will be useless for us to plan 
anything without her codperation.”’ 


PLANS FOR CLINTON'S IMPROVEMENT. 55 


**Can you not persuade her, Mrs. Clement?”’ said 
Josephine. ‘‘ Do represent the case to her in such a 
light that she will at least give a passive consent. - 
My heart is set upon having him for a Sabbath-school 
scholar.” 

“JT will try,” said Mrs. Clement, smiling at her 
earnestness. ‘‘I will try to soften her heart. I may 
get a ‘passive consent,’ as you say; but I am sure it 
will take more genius than I possess to enlist her 
heart on our side. Frank has several suits of clothes 
which he has outgrown, and I dare say that I could 
dress Clint nicely. I will call upon Mrs. Kent to- 
morrow, and do the best I can for the boy. I feel a 
presentiment that he will yet do credit to your teach- 
ing, Josie.” 

“TY felt confident that you would be interested in 

my plans, Mrs. Clement. You have made me very 
happy. ‘I had begun to fear that [®was, too mexpe- 
rienced for a teacher.” 

-* My dear Josie,”’ said Mrs. Clement, with a look 
of affection, ‘‘an earnest, loving heart like yours can 
do wonders, even with your little experience. I feel 
reproved for my own thoughtlessness and inactivity 
by your eagerness to do some good.” 

‘You feel reproved by my conduct! ”’ cried Joseph- 
ine. ‘‘ You, whom everybody looks up to with admi- 
ration and respect !”” — Mina interrupted her by 
exclaiming, ‘‘O mamma, there is good, old Mrs. 
Wilkins coming up the garden walk, with brother 

Frank! I’m going to run out and meet her.” 
_« Through an open window, Mrs. Clement and 
4 Josephine saw an old lady toiling up the path, while 
Frank ran on before, and then helped her up the 
steps with rare gallantry. Mrs. Clement went for- 
ward and kindly helped her guest to an easy-chair ; 


56 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


for, between her late exertions and the glad caresses 
of Elmina, she seemed quite ot of breath. 

“T do declare, Miss Clement! your Frank is a 
perfect little gentleman, —a_ perfect gentleman! 
Why, his father, whom everybody calls the very » 
pink of politeness, couldn't have waited upon me ~ 
better !’”’ said the old lady. panting. 

‘Tam glad that Frank knows how to profit by his | 
father’s good example,” said Mrs. Clement, smiling 
sweetly upon the boy, avho, after bowing to Josephine, 
had seated himself quietly on the sofa. Mrs. Wil- 
kins was now relieved of her bonnet and parasol, and 
Josephine was presented to her. 

‘Bless me! if this isn’t the school-marm I’ve 
hearf so much about. How do you do, dear?” said 
Mrs. Wilkins, shaking, in true Yankee style, the 
hand which Josie winningly placed in hers. ‘+My 
grandchildren love you dearly; and I don’t wonder, 
neither,” ‘she added, looking admiringly upon the 
maiden’s expressive countenance. 8 

Josephine replied that she was well, and was glad 
to know that she had gained the affections of her 
pupils. 

‘And how do you like your school, dear? You get 
along well, I hope?”’ 

Josephine liked her school much, gand generally 
got along very happily. Mrs. Wilkins expressed her 
satisfaction, and turned to Mrs. Clement, saying, 
‘‘ When I get all out of sorts, I come over here, and 
somehow or other, Miss Clement, your sweet ways 
set me all right; and I go home feelin’ good to 
everybody; and that’s why I come to-night.” 

“Why, Mrs. Wilkins, you are so cheerful always, 
that I thought it took something serious to irritate 

ou.” 
Ta It is something serious, in my opinion,”’ said the 





PLANS FOR CLINTON’S IMPROVEMENT. 5ST 


old lady, with great energy. ‘‘ You know I always 
had a great deal of feelin’ for that fatherless and 
motherless little fellow at Mr. Kent’s. I’ve always 
said he ’d be a ‘rst-rate boy if he was treated half- 
decent. Well, this afternoon, I saw Mr. Kent drag 
him into the barn, — the barn, you know, is close to 
our house, — and he was swearin’ and scoldin’ dread- 
fully. Then he gave him such an awful wippin’ ! 
I could hear the blows where I sat as plain as day. 
After a little spell Jane come in. She’s been away 
for a week, and just got back. I asked her what 
great thing Clint had been doing. She laughed,— I 
just about hate that girl,—and said that ‘ Clint had 
been*playin’ truant, and her father had given him one 
good whippin’, and she guessed he’d have another ; 
for he had carried him to Miss Lee, and she had 
looked quite angry, and said she should do her duty 
by him.’ I dare say he deserved punishment; but 
’twouldn’t do any good to half-kill the-child. I 
wanted to shake the girl for laughin’ so spitefully ; 
and when she went away I should have boiled over if 
_ I hadn’t known that John’s wife is always against 
the boy. So I caught up my bonnet, and came away 
as fast as I could.” 

Mrs. Wilkins paused for breath. Her face was 
burning with indignation, and her eyes glistening. 
Mina innocently handed her a fan. ‘‘Thank you, 
dear,” .she said, accepting it. ‘‘ Wish ’t would fan 
away all my heat.” 

‘‘T am very sorry that Mr. Kent is so hard eh 
the boy,” said Mrs. Clement; ‘‘he will be entirely 
spoiled if there isn’t a different course adopted with 
him.” 

“That, he will,’”’ said Mrs. Wilkins, nodding her 
head decidedly. ‘‘I venture he’d be a wonderful 
sight better if he had some one to love him, and treat 


on THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


him like a human creature. Don’t think I mean te 
fault you,” she continued, turning to Josephine, with 
a half-apologetical, half-scrutinizing glance. “ Don’t 
think I mean to fault you, my dear young lady. I’ve 
hearn how kind you have been to him, and my heart 
blest you for it. I can’t blame you for gettin’ a 
little out of patience at last; for I suppose he does 
act dreadful tryin’ sometimes ; but ’tan’t the best 
way, my dear, it an’t the best way be 

Josephine felt slightly confused, and hardly knew 
how to reply to the old lady. Mrs. Clement came to 
her relief. ‘‘ You are mistaken, Mrs. Wilkins; you 
don’t know Miss Lee. Josie, let me tell her all 
about it.” Josephine assented. Mrs. Clement re- 
peated what the young girl had told her, of her con- 
versation with Clinton in the school-room, and the 
manner in which it affected him. Mrs. Wilkins lis- 
tened with delight. 

‘‘ Bless your dear heart!” she cried, wiping her 
eyes. ‘‘ And you made him ery only with such kind, 
lovin’ words! Did he promise to be good and obedi- 
ent?” 

‘‘ He told me that I should yet be proud of him,” 
said Josephine. ‘‘When I commenced talking with 
him, he looked stubborn and wilful enough to bear 
anything without crying ; but when he went away, his 
whole appearance was changed. His face was radi- 
ant with joy and hope. I have strong hopes that he 
will become as worthy of our love as he now is of our 
compassion.”’ 

“Yes, [ know he will,” said Mrs. Wilkins; “arl 
it will all be through your goodness. Who’d think 
a young thing like you would be so sensible and 
patient too? P’raps you’d like to know why I am 


so interested in the boy? Well, I was with his poor : 


mother when she died. Poor thing | it makes me sad 
* 


PLANS FOR CLINTON’S IMPROVEMENT. 59 


to think how she died, without.a single friend to leave 
her baby with! She seemed stupid all the time, and 
I could n’t find out anything about her folks; so little 
Clint had to goto the poor-house. ’T' was kinder 
mysterious how they were so far from all their folks; 
and some people said ill-natured things about ’em; 
but I’d never believe a word of it.” Josephine had 
heard the story several times; was very glad to have 
the sympathy of others in her endeavors for the 
child’s improvement, and hoped Mrs. Wilkins would 
speak a kind word for him whenever she had occasion. 
Indeed she would, — the kind old lady, —and never 
cease to remember his young teacher’s gentleness and 
patience. 

‘T will tell you something to encourage you, Miss 
Lee,”’ said Frank, who had been listening to the con- 
versation with great interest. ‘‘I never heard of 
Clint’s telling a falsehood; and I have more than 
once known when he easily might have saved himself 
from punishment if he had hed a little.” 

“Indeed, that is very encouraging,” said Joseph- 
ine; ‘‘ yet, I hardly understand why he should have 
such regard for truth when he has had no religious 
instruction.”’ 

“*T don’t think it can properly’be called regard for 
truth,”’ said Mrs. Clement, ‘‘as he doubtless has no 
knowledge of its value or importance. It must be an 
inborn spirit of integrity, a native pride, which keeps 
him above the vice of deception. It argues well for 
our hopes: and now it seems that most of his faults 
result from his ungovernable temper; and, Josie, if 
we can get him into the Sunday-school, you may be. 
.. able to cure him of that.” 

‘‘ Mother,’ said Frank, ‘‘haven’t I some clothes 
that would fit him? I have pocket-money enough to 


i 


60 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


buy him a Bible, if you are willing. I am sure he’d 
like going to Sunday-school.”’ 

‘‘T am perfectly willing that you should buy a 
Bible for Clint. I had thought about the clothes 
before you came in; and to-morrow I am going to see 
Mrs. Kent about this matter, and coax her to agree to 
all our plans.”’ “ 

“T don’t envy you your job,” said Mrs. Wilkims, 
rising to go; ‘‘ though I’m sure I wish you the best 
of luck.” With many caresses for little Mina, and 
kindly expressions for all, the good old lady took her 
departure. In a few moments Josephine bade her 
. friends good-night, and returned to her pleasant 
boarding-place. Elmina then sprung into her mother’s 
arms, and hid her tearful face in her bosom. 

‘What is it?” said Mrs. Clement, in surprise, 
parting the curls from her brow. ‘‘ What is the 
matter ?”’ | | 

‘OQ, I don’t know what makes me cry when I am 
go glad! Clint will be a good bey, and everybody 
will love him, and he will be so happy!” 

The mother drew the sweet child closer to her 
bosom, and breathed over her a blessing and a prayer. 


The next Sabbath Clinton went to meeting and to 
the Sunday-school. His friends were much pleased 
with the earnest, serious attention which he paid to 
the services. Indeed, there, was much in the dis- 
- courses of the minister that Clinton could understand, 
much that filled him with joy. . His heart beat high 
in unison with the stirring anthem; and he felt, as he 
had never dreamed of before, that God was his 
Father, and Christ his Saviour. The minister said - 
60; the Bible which he held in his clasped hands told. 
him so, and the sublime hymn, that seemed to bear 
his soul to the very gate of heaven, told of his Father 


PLANS FOR CLINTON’S IMPROVEMENT. 61 


and Saviour. When the minister rose to pronounce 
the benediction, Clint’s eyes were filled with tears of 
sacred joy, and his young head bowed in deepest 
reverence. The blessing, in its tichest, purest sense, 
seemed to fall on that one child-heart. Probably 
there was no one in that worshipping assembly who felt 
the Divine presence as did Clinton Forrest. 

Do not call this all romance. Say not that the 
heart of childhood is incapable of such holy, such sub- 
lime aspirations; that mature and cultivated minds 
only can feel to such a degree the Divine inspiration. 
Many have felt all this, and more, in early childhood, 
ere they could tell what it was that filled the heart 
with bliss too deep for utterance ; ere they knew why 
their eyes overflowed, or could define the strange 
yearning that set the infant spirit fluttering, strug- 
gling for freedom. 

From that hour Clinton loved the service of the 
sanctuary, and summer’s heat or winter’s storms 
could not keep him from the house of the Lord. His 
soul expanded, and the good seed was planted in a 
fruitful soil. There sprung up in his heart a self- 
respect, which was the foundation of the elevated and 
manly character which he afterwards acquired. The 
world was more: beautiful to him; a sort of radiance 
rested on the whole face of nature that he could not 
account for. Ah, happy child! the light was in thine 
own heart, flowing ; in silver streams from the fount of 
Love ! 


CHAPTER V1Ii. 
FORESHADOWINGS. 


Five years have passed since we first introduced 
the reader to Oakville. Since then it has increased 
considerably in size and importance. A new street 
has been laid out, and a number of fine residences 
erected.” A. new church stands conspicuously on a little 
eminence, while higher up, commanding a fine view 
of many miles, is a neat building, from whose small 
‘cupola daily peals a clear-toned bell, calling the young 
students to the whouse of learning. You readily 
recognize it as. the new academy building; and a very 
tasteful and convenient one it is. The villagers are 
justly proud of their fine school-house and flourishing 
school. Mr. Hastings,-a good and learned man, is 
the principal, and Josephine Lee the preceptress. 
It was a very pleasant arrangement for Josephine ; 
and her pupils, who left the common school for the 
academy, rejoiced in it greatly. | 
Hinton Forrest, the once mischievous, neglected, 

misused boy, is now a favorite in the school, and 
one of its brightest ornaments. Those who once 
‘talked of his disreputable parentage, and called him 
the worst boy in town, now proudly point him out to 
strangers as a promising youth. He has won the 
favor of all by his obliging, gentlemanly conduct; and 
his fine talents command universal respect. 
His mind unfolded so rapidly under the u 








- ‘se 


. FORESHADOWINGS. 63 
gtiidance of Josephine, that at eleven years he was 
much noticed by visitors for his remarkable scholar- 
ship. About this time Mr. Kent proposed to take 
him from school, and set him to work at his trade. 
Dr. Clement secretly arranged with Mr. Kent to have 
him attend school’a year longer. Clinton’s heart 
swelled with gratitude at this unexpected favor; and 
he bent his mind’ more assiduously than ever to his 
studies. At the close of the year he commenced 
working in the shoemaker’s shop. The occupation 
was extremely distasteful to him, and he inwardly 
chafed at his irksome duties. But he was too grate- 
ful to his friends, for their many favors, to manifest 
any’ dissatisfaction; and he labored industriously all 
the day, and spent every evening with his beloved 
books. 

When the academy was established, and he saw 
all his young companions enjoying its advantages, 
he wept in secret that he was debarred from sharing 
the privilege. Jane Kent, who “was in truth a fine 
scholar, had always felt jealous of Clinton’s good 


scholarship, and did not conceal her pleasure when - 


he left school. One day she boasted of her superior 
opportunities, and twitted him of his poverty. She 
thought to depress and discourage him; but her words 
had the contrary effect, for they woke to still quicker 


life his tireless ambition. He resolved that Jane 


‘should not pass by him, and late at night and at 
early morn he toiled over history and mathematics. 
Frank Clement, his most intimate friend, often helped 


him puzzle out the more difficult problems, and re- . 


peated the explanations which he received from his 
master. And when Frank failed to lighten the dark 
places, he carried his algebra to Miss Lee, who was 
glad to assist her dear ‘‘ young brother,” as she still 
called him. 


ee 





se a 
: us 


a 
5 


64 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


This constant labor, both manual and mental, wore 
upon him, and he grew thin and pale. Dr. Clement 
observed this change in his young favorite, and, when 
he discovered the cause, declared that he should spend 
another year at school. He one, i: the case to 
several liberal-minded men, and so enlisted their sym- 
pathies, that the means were soon placed in Clinton’s 
hands for a year’s schooling and clothing. It was 
arranged that he should remain at Mr. Kent’s, and 
work enough to pay for his board. The boy could 
scarcely realize that this piece of good fortune was 
his; it seemed too good to be true. Lut when El- 
mina Clement congratulated him, with tears in her 
eyes, he felt like one waking from a pleasant dream, 
_and finding it a reality. There was nothing to 
hinder his progress now, and he soon rose to a high 
rank in school. F 

It was at the close of the winter term (the last of 

Clinton’s year), and there had been a mosf-brilliant 
examination. The evening of the same day a pleas- 
ant party were gathered in Dr. Clement's. parlor. 
Frank, Clinton, and Dora May, sat near the glowing 
grate, tatking over the occurrences of the day; and 
Elmina’ sat “reclining on a lounge at a little dis- - 
tance. Elmina looked wearied, and there was a list- 
less, almost sorrowful, expression on her countenance. 

Time had improved the outward* appearance of our 
“friends, sand added grace and beauty to their. still 
forming characters. Frank was a young man of eigh- | 
teen, and fully fitted for college. He had a pleasing 
person, and possessed a very cheerful, happy disposi- 
tion. Clint’s jetty locks were thrown back from his 
white forehead, and his dark eyes sparkled with more 
than their wonted lustre; his whole face beamed with 
joy, and an almost triumphant smile played round his 
mouth. Who could recognize, in this noble-looking 









FORESHADOWINGS. 65 


lad, the ugly, miserable Clint Forrest of other days ? 
Dora was “fairy Dora”’ still, and her voice was ag 
clear, and her laugh as joyous, as in early childhood. 
Elmina’s beautiful. dark eyes had grown deeper and 
darker ; and there was an earnest, womanly expres- 
sion on her face, rarely seen in a girl of twelve years. 
Now her eyes were glistening with unshed tears, and 
a sigh seemed struggling for expression. 

Mrs. Clement’s health had been declining for sev- 
eral months, and she now was seriously ill. Though 
Elmina had strong expectations of winning a prize, — 
she forgot everything but anxiety for her beloved — 
mother, and hovered around her pillow like a minis- . 
tering angel. She had spent the long day by her — 
bedside, and was wearied and depressed, while the 
others were excited and joyous. She forgot her list- 
lessness and sorrow when Frank told her’ that his 
essay had won the prize, and placed it in her hands, 
.—a beautifully bound volume of poems. She had no 
time to admire it, before Clinton held up to her a 
glittering medal, exclaiming, ‘‘I’ve won, the gold 
medal, Mina; I’ve won the medal! ”’ 

‘Dear Frank, dear Clint, I am delighted!” said 
Elmina, examining the beautiful prizes. ‘I am 
proud enough to have two such brothers; an’t youy 
Dora ??’ os 

“Indeed I am!” said Dora. ‘‘ How I wish you’ ¢ 
could have been with us to-day! It has been the ~ 
best examination we ever had; everything went off 
just right. I was perfectly happy, only when I was 
afraid that Clinton would lose the medal. I was 
almost afraid that Jane Kent or Willie Hastings 
would do better than he; but he beat ’em all, and, got 
the prize!” 

“J was frightened myself,” said Clint, ‘‘ when I 
blundered so PraDeely over that problem. I think 


, 
4 


66 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


I should have done better though, if Jane had n’t 
frustrated me so.’” 

‘“‘T know you would,” said Frank. ‘That mali- 
cious Jane bothered you more than you think for. I 
saw that she was jealous and angry because you ex- 
plained your first test-problem so well. I was suspi- 
cious of her, so I kept my eyes on her. She com- 
menced her work too near yours on the board, and - 
then purposely run her figures in among yours; then 
she pretended to be so sorry that she had troubled 
you, and made your letters over again, but altered 
the numbers before them. I wondered you didn’t 
see what she was about, and stop her. ‘Then, when 
you were forming the last equation, as quick as 
thought she crossed*a minus sign, making it plus; 
and when you looked bewildered because it was 
wrong, she smiled so maliciously, I was so vexed I 
could hardly keep my seat !”’ 

Clint’s color rose as he exclaimed, ‘‘I am sure I 
never thought of her being quite so mean as that! 
She is certainly the most unprincipled girl in school ; 
she was n't willing to have a fair trial, but wanted to 
discomfort me, so [ should lose the medal. She would 
have succeeded, I’m sure, if that stranger gentleman 
had n’t come to me, and asked leave for me to tr 
again, ‘as the young lady by my side had dwsturbed 
me considerably.’ 1 was so mortified, that I should _ 
have done everything wrong after that, had it not 
been for his kindness.” 

“Yes, that gentleman took a great fancy to you,” 
said Frank. ‘I saw that he noticed you when “your 
class was first called; perhaps because you are the 
smallest and youngest in the class. And, when you 
explained your first test-problem, he looked very much +. 
pleased afid interested. I think he saw Jane’s mg 


b> FORESHADOWINGS. 67 







 nosuvringS%and she thought so too, for she looked very 
red when he went towards her.” 

‘Het was very kind, I think,” said Elmina. 
‘What is his name?” | 

‘ Evans, I believe,” said Frank; ‘and you can’t 
guess who he is, Mina. You recollect our old school- 
teacher, Miss Willis, don’t you? Well, he’s her 
husband, and she is with him. She looks just as she 
used to. I knew her the minute I saw her.” 

“So did I,” said Dera. “She went round, and 

‘spoke to her old scholars, and shook hands with us 
all, and seemed very glad to meet us. She inquired 
for you, Elmina, and said she recollected you as one 
of the loveliest, sweetest children in the school.”’ 

‘‘Yes, she shook hands with all but me,’’ said 
Clinton. ‘‘A minute after, I saw her whispering 
with her husband, and then she came back to me, 
and seemed much pleased to see me. She said I had 
altered so much that she did n’t know me. She com- 
plimented. me on my fine recitations; but I didn’t 
care’ about her compliments!” Clint’s lip curled, 
and a shadow darkened his brow. ‘‘I never should 
have deserved anything but blows, if she had always 
been my teacher !”’ : 

“Clinton,” said Elmina, gently, ‘‘don’t you think 

“she meant to do right? You won’t think unkindly 
of her, will you ?”’ 

‘“No, dear Mina, I’m sure I ought not,” said 
Clint, his bright smile returning again; ‘‘for I am 
quite sure she treated me as well as I did her. I 
didn’t deserve Josie Lee’s kindness, and your father’s - 
genergsity.”” 

“OQ, yes you did! At any rate, you deserve it 
now, or my father would n’t think so much of you. 
Do you know what he told me this afternoon? He 
said that, as Mr. Kent is going té Europe to hunt up 


68 ; THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


that fortune, and doesn’t want you any longer, he 
intends to ask you to stay with us, and go to school 
till you find something to do that you like better than 
shoemaking.” 

“That ’s just like Dy. Clement!” cried Dora; 
‘the always tries to make everybody so happy.” 

‘He has been hke a father to me,”’ said Clinton. 
‘‘ He is too kind; I can never repay him.” 

‘“ Pshaw!’’ said Frank; ‘‘don’t talk about that. 
You ’ll be like a son to him while you stay with us, 
and a good brother to Mina and me.” | 

‘But your mother, — will she be pleased with the 
arrangement ?”’ 

‘Can you doubt it?” said Frank, a little reproach- 
fully. ‘‘My father is good, but my mother is good- 
ness itself.” 

‘Tt is a nice plan,”’ said Dora, ‘‘and will please 
all, [ know. If Mr. Kent is really heir to that great 
English estate, he will want no shoemaker boys; so 
you can learn to do something that you like better.” 

They were in high spirits, and chatted faster than | 
ever, —all. but Elmina; for the mention of her mother 
had brought the shadows again to her countenance, 
and she leaned back on the lounge, and covered her 
eyes with her hand. . ‘‘ Dear Mina, are you sick?” 
said Dora, observing her. 

‘“‘T’m very well, I thank you.” 

‘We forgot,” said Frank, ‘‘that she has enjoyed 
none of the pleasure which makes us so lively to- 
night; and she has lost the prize, too, which she 
hoped to gain. It is unkind in us to remind her of 
her disappointment so often.’ 

“No, no, Frank, it ig not that. I was thinking 
of poor mamma.’ : 
_ “Of mother!’ said Frank, anxiously. ‘Is she 

worse ?”’ 


FORESHADOWINGS. 69 


Elmina’s lip quivered, and her eyes filled with 
tears. ‘I don’t know, Frank, but I fear she is very 
ill.” 

They looked from one to another with sorrowful 
faces. A sudden and melancholy thought had come to 
them; and an earnest prayer went up from each 
heart that she might be spared. Just then Josie 
Lee entered the room, with the freedom of a privi- 
leged friend. She nodded ‘‘ Good-e’en ”’ to the little 
circle by the fire, but embraced Elmina, and inquired 
for her mother. ‘‘She seemed comfortable when I 
left her an hour ago,” said Elmina; ‘‘but I fear she 
is very sick.” : . 

“Yet us go to her,’ said Josephine. ‘I have 
come to take care of her to-night.’ 

‘She will be glad to see you, for she asked for her 
friend Josie this morning.” 

Together they ascended the softly carpeted stairs, 
and entered the sick chamber. The doctor was sit- 
ting by the bedside, holding the thin hand of his wife. 
The expression of his face, as it turned towards Joseph- 
ine, caused her heart to beat quickly and oye 
it was full of woe, almost despair. He was glad to 
see her; and, when he found that she would stay, he 
said he would take the opportunity to visit .a patient 
who needed his attention. Mrs. Clement smiled, and 
held Josie’s hand to her lips. There was a deep 
crimson spot on each cheek, and her eyes were large 
and brilliant. Elmina, in her simplicity, thought it 
was in token of returning health, and kissed her 
mother’s brow tenderly, whispering, ‘‘ You are bet- 
ter, mamma; your eyes are bright and your cheeks 
rosy.’ The invalid smiled again, and attempted to 
speak, but was prevented by a paroxysm of coughing, 
which shook her weak! frame terribly. 


Then she lay back ,on her pillow, completely, x 


70 ' WHE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


exhausted. Elmina saw that she was deadly pale, and 
there was a look upon her face which she had never 
seen before. Something seemed to whisper to her 
that the hope with which she had just comforted her- 
self was delusive; and a strange, vague feeling of 
terror took possession of her heart, and she burst 
into tears. Josie caressed her, but could say nOuanE, 
for her own emotion choked her utterance. 

For a time the sobbing of Elmina was the only 
sound in the apartment; at length, Mrs. Clement 
spoke in faint accents: ‘‘Mina, my darling one, I 
must speak to you while I have strength, and thank 
you for your kind and loving attentions. You have 
ever been an obedient child and a great blessing to 
your mother; this knowledge will be a comfort to 
you when I am gone.”’ 

‘“Q, mother, mother!’’ sobbed Elmima, “ don’t talk 
of leaving us — of dying. I will tend you so gently, 
and do everything for you, if you will only get well. 
You must not, shall not die!” She laid her head 
on the pillow beside her mother's s, and clung to her 
convulsively. for a moment the mother wept with 
her child, and Josephine’s tears fell fast. But the 
sick one was calm immediately, and spoke again, as 
her wasted hand toyed with Mina’s disordered hair: 
. “ My child, it would be pleasant for me to live longer 

in this beautiful world, for the sake of those I love; 
‘but heaven is so much more beautiful, that I am 
willing to go. When I first knew that I must die, 
O, my child, the thought was dreadful for me! I 
thought I could not be parted from my husband and 
children. But heaven seemed to grow nearer and 
nearer each day, and at lasta sweet peace came intomy . 
heart, and I now am ready to go when the Saviour 
calls.” She paused, her eyes were raised upward, and 
a beautiful, holy light overspread her countenance. It 


FORESHADOWINGS. 71 


was the brightening of the spirit in anticipation of a 
glorious freedom. 

Elmina raised her head, and looked upon her with 
wonder and awe; she was hushed and subdued as if 
in heavenly presence. 

‘‘ Mina, comfort your father; be a true, loving 
sister to Frank. Remember all my teachings, and 
be good. QO, my own darling, strive ever to be good! 
If you are ever doubtful as to your duty, think of me 
as your guardian-angel, and act as you believe I 
would have you.” 

These words, though spoken slowly and faintly, 
engraved themselves on Miuna’s heart in fadeless 
characters. ‘‘I can say no more now, my Elmina, 
for [am weary. Kiss me, love.” 

She received the kiss, and then seemed to pass 
Immediately into a tranquil slumber. Elmina sat 
motionless, musing on her mother’s words. She tried 
to comfort herself by thinking that her mother might 
be mistaken; that God would yet spare her precious 
life. A halfhour passed, and Mrs. Clement still 
slept as calmly as a babe; but Josie perceived that a 
change was taking place, and anxiously wished for the 
doctor’s presence. He came soon, accompanied by 
Frank. ‘There were tears on Frank's cheek. He 
went directly to the bedside, and looked tenderly upon 
the sleeper. Hlmina saw that her father grew very 
pale as he glanced towards the bed, and then turned 
quickly round; she saw his hand trembled so that he 
scarce could hold his watch, which he drew forth to 
note the time, and when he looked at her he groaned 
aloud. 

She knew it now,—her mother would die! A 
mountain weight fell upon her heart, and she felt a 
strained, choking sensation in her throat; a horrible 
nightmare seemed to inthrall her senses, and she 


Sites. . 


72 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


feared she should shriek. ‘‘I can’t stay here,” she 
thought; ‘‘I can scarcely breathe!’’ She hurried from 
the room, down the stairs, and out into the open air. 

The keen March wind swept wildly around the 
house, throwing the light snow upon her dress and 
hair. She heeded it not, but hurried on till she 
reached a little arbor, which in summer-time was her 
mother’s favorite seat. She sank upon the floor, and 
wept in all the abandonment of sudden and terrible 
sorrow. It was her first grief, and that —-O, God! — 
how terrible for her childish heart! Will the light 
ever shine again upon her head, — will joy ever tune 
her heart again to his tripping measure? It seems 
not so to her now; it seems as though the weight will 
never be lifted from her breast; as though her heart 
will never cease its painful throbbings. But, thank 
God, his angels will come and lighten the burden ; 
His peace will soothe her wounded spirit. In time 
she will be able to think calmly of this night. But 
how often, in her bereaved girlhood and early woman- 
hood, will she yearn for that mother’s love! How 
often will her pillow receive her scalding tears, and 
the still night only hear her spirit’s wail for mother, 
mother ! 

Other sorrows may come to her; other afflictions 
may prostrate her spirit, and chill the life-blood in 
her heart; but never can she weep again as she is 
weeping now. ‘These are the first tears welling up 
from that deep fountain in the soul over which the 
angel of sorrow keeps guard, and unseals only when 
Jehovah commands. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


BEREAVEMENT. 


se Tis a time 
For memory and tears.”’ 


WE draw a veil over the closing scene, which is too 
sacred for stranger eyes to gaze upon. The sun rose 
in all his wonted splendor, and in the deep blue 
floated light fleecy clouds, rivalling in whiteness the 
newly-fallen snow upon the earth. But she, who’ 
ever greeted the morning in gratitude and praise, had, 
in the still watches of the night, sought that better 
land whose light is the glory of God. 

The beloved wife and mother slept,in the arms of 
~ death! Mute was the loving breast that had throbbed 
so purely and tenderly; voiceless the lips which never 
opened but in blessing; and shaded were the beaming 
eyes, for the spirit once speaking through them had 
fled forever. 

Dr. Clement had loved his companion with all the 
strength of his manly heart; and he revered as well 
as loved her, for her exalted character commanded his 
deepest respect and confidence. His heart was 
wrung with the anguish of parting, and he felt that his 
house was desolate; yet, even then, heaven-born hope 
whispered words of consolation, and he heard ’mid 
the tempest of his grief. Then he sorrowed most for 
his children; and they, unselfish even in that on 

(73 


14 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


fully trying hour, endeavored to hide their tears, that 
they might comfort him. He saw and appreciated 
their generous efforts at self-control, and thanked God 
for his children. , 

But he was destined to receive another blow, which 
nearly robbed him of his fortitude. The tidings 
came of the death of his only and dearly Joved 
brother. He read the sad missive, placed it in the 
hands of Frank, and, without a word, retired to his 
chamber. Only the pitying eye of* his heavenly 
Father witnessed his renewed anguish, or the strug- 
gles of his spirit for resignation and composure. And 
when, after a lapse of several hours, he came forth, 
pale and very grave, ’tis true, but with a serene 
aspect, those who knew how. he had loved and 
sorrowed, wondered whence that calmness came. 

Poor Elmina! her heart was almost broken, and, 
when her father was not by, she wept and mourned 
incessantly. 

She lay upon the bed in her own chamber, and 
wished, in her rebellious sorrow, that she might never 
rise again — that she might die, and be “with her 
precious mother. She had» been alone for a little 
time, when Josephine Lee entered the room with 
quiet footsteps; she raised her head and pillowed it © 
upon her breast, and pressed a kiss eae her burning 

row. 

‘“Q, Josie, how can I live without my mother?” 
cried Elmina, with another burst of agonizing tears. 

‘« Poor, dear child!” murmured Josephine, softly 
stroking her aching head. 

‘QO, I want my mother, my dear, dear mother !”’ 
sobbed Elmina. 

‘¢ She is in heaven,” said A; osephine, tenderly and 
solemnly, ‘‘ with God and the angels. She isan angel, 
now. Would yon call bor back to earth?” ; 


BEREAVEMENT. cc 


Her words penetrated Elmina’s heart, and she said 
more calmly, ‘‘ No, I would not call her back, but I 
wish I might die, too.” 

_ Mina, don’t you remember your angel mother 
said that you must comfort your father? Are you not 
glad to live for his sake?”’ 

‘“‘My dear, dear father!’’ cried Elmina, with 
still streaming tears; ‘QO, how I wish that I could 
comfort him !” 

‘You can — you will, I am sure,”’ said Josephine, 
caressing the stricken child. ‘‘Calm yourself, and 
listen tome. Do you know, my love, that God de- 
signs afflictions for our good? It can hardly seem to 
you that ‘it is better for you.to lose your mother’s 
kind care; but God knows best. You will have 
many trials now, that you would never have known 
had she lived; and it is by trial that the spirit is 
made strong, and fitted for heaven. I am sure, 
Mina, that you will be patient and resigned; and 
your dear smother will look down from heaven and 
bless you.”’ 

Elmina grew composed as she listened. ¢T will 
try to do as she would have me,” she said, with a 
tremulous voice. Josephine continued to talk to her 
So wisely and soothingly, that some of the noble 
strength of her own character seemed imparted to the 
young girl. From that hour she was at heart a 
woman, théugh in years a child. Bravely did her 
spirit rise above her selfish sorrow, and she was in- 
deed a comfort to her father. Though mourning 
still, she repined not; and a sweet cheerfulness 
became habitual to her. Yet, alone at night, she 
often struggled fearfully with her grief; but the 
morning ever brought peace. 


\ 


bY 


GHAPTER IX. 
‘© NEW-COMERS.”’ 


THREE weeks after the death of Mrs. Clement the 
doctor received a letter from the widow of his broth- 
er. It was evidently written ina state of great | 
despondency, and a sort of whining, complaining tone 
ran through the whole of the epistle. The doctor 
was in too great afiliction himself to criticize any- 
thing coming from one similarly bereaved. He knew 
that his sister-in-law must be penniless, as his brother 
had met with losses and died poor; and when he learned 
that she was coming on from the West with her son, 
he wrote her a very brotherly letter, bidding her wel- 
come to his house as long as she chose to stay. He 
proposed that she should keep his house for him, and 
promised to educate her boy as his own son. She 
accepted his kind offer with many protestations of 
gratitude, and promised to be with them AY the last 
of April. 

When this arrangement was made ee to Ann 
she felt some inward dissatisfaction, but was too sensi- 
ble to express it. She had always been a kind and 
willing girl, and now proved herself a capable 
woman. She had been so long in the family that 
they considered her as a friend, and she felt a lively 
interest in all that concerned them. She rejoiced when 
Clinton Forrest became a member of the family, and 

(76) 


‘¢ NEW-COMERS.”’ TT 


took pleasure in performing any little service for him ; 
but these ‘‘new-comers,’’ as she called them, would 
make a great deal of trouble. She, unconsciously, 
was prejudiced against a person she had never seen, 
and knew nothing of. But Elmina’s generous heart 
was filled with sympathy, and she made many 
arrangements for their comfort and pleasure. A large 
and pleasant chamber was allotted to her aunt; and a 
neat little bedroom, at the end of the hall, was fitted 
up for her cousin. 

,lilmina thought less of her sorrow when engaged 
in her active plans for the comfort of her expected 
friends, and was almost light-hearted when the day 
of their arrival came. She had formed a very 
pleasant idea of her aunt, and fancied that she might, 
im some instances, supply the place of her dear 
mother.. She thought of her as a gentle woman, 
with eafnest, affectionate ways, and her heart was 
ready to lavish upon her its wealth of love. 

With the evening stage came Mrs. James Clement 
and cher son. The doctor’s welcome was cordial, 
but he could not say much, for the many painful 
emotions stirring in his heart. Elmina affectionately 
embraced her aunt and cousin, and assisted Ann in 
carrying away their outer garmentss She felt almost 
a ludicrous sensation of disappointment as her fancy- 
picture of her aunt fell to the ground. Mrs. James 
Clement was a tall, masculine-looking woman, with a 
restless, wandering eye, and an ill-favored mouth. 
She spoke in a whining voice, which was meant to be 
very sweet and plaintive. Observing that her broth- 
er-in-law was struggling with emotion, she spoke in a 
still more whining tone, and put her handkerchief to 
her eyes. | 

‘OQ, dear, O, dear!’’ she murmured, “it is so 
dreadful to have our friends taken from us! I shall 


78 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


never see another happy day, I know I never shall; ” 
and she rocked back and forth despairingly. ‘There 
was something in her manner very discordant with 
the doctor’s feelings; something that painfully jarred 
his wounded spirit. But he saw that she needed 
sympathy ; and he was not the man to withhold kind 
and encouraging words. 

“You are wearied with your long journey, sister 
Jane, and things look darker and more gloomy to you 
than ‘they really are. You will be more cheerful by 
and by. Here I have a comfortable home, and if is 
yours as long as you please; and we will do all that 
we can to make you and your son happy.” 

‘‘T presume I shall appear more cheerful, for I 
- have great command of my feelings; but 5 know 
there ’s no more pleasure in this world for me.’ 

‘“O, don’t say that! You have a son, who, he is 
a studious, obedient boy, will be a great source of 
comfort to you. If he is well and happy, you will 
certainly have cause to rejoice. I dare say James 
will be a very pleasant addition to our circle of young 
folks; he is just the age of Clinton Forrest, who isat 
present one of our family. a 

The comfort promised in her son seemed to tran- 
quillize the afflicted lady, and she removed the kerchief © 
from her face to look fondly upon her boy. James 
appeared awkward and ill at ease. Frank and Clin- 
ton, observing this, invited him to go to their own 
room, where he might feel more at home; and, with a 
sort of sullen bashfulness, he allowed them to lead 
him away. Now Mrs. James Clement talked volubly 
of all the mishaps and discomforts of her Journey ; 
of her own anxiety and weariness, and of poor Jim- 
my’s headache; of the meanness of the landlords, 
and the carelessness of the railroad agents. She 
gave, in fact, a minute description of her travels from 


‘¢ NHW-COMERS.”’ 79 


beginning toend. The doctor listened with commend- 
able patience and good-humor while Mina was filled 
with innocent wonder and compassion. 

At an early hour the lady signified her desire to 
retire, and Mina lighted a small lamp and prepared 
to accompany her. Mrs. Clement looked at her, and 
intimated that she had expected the maid would at- 
tend her. 

‘Ann ig very busy,’’ was the reply. ‘I shall 
take pleasure in doing anything you wish.” 

‘Very well, child, you may take my carpet-bag 
and shawl, — that’s all I shall want.’ 

- Elmina showed her aunt into a large and pleasant 
chamber, furnished in a. generous and tasteful man- 
ner. <A bright wood-fire blazed in a handsome open 
stove, and at an inviting distance stood a nice stuffed 
rocking-chair; the snowy curtains reached to the 
bright wool carpet; a mahogany table was covered 
with richly-bound books, and a nice dressing-table 
stood: in its proper place; while the bed, with’ its 
Inviting softness, seemed to woo the weary traveller 
to balmy slumbers. or a moment she looked grati- 
fied, and then, with an expression of discontent 
shading her features, she sank into the rocking-chair. 
Elmina asked her if she would have anything. Yes, 
she would like some water, for her head ached badly. 

‘“‘There is water here on the stand,” said Elmina; 
“shall I give you some ?”’ 

‘No, child, I won’t have any now;” and she 
leaned her head dolefully on her hand. Elmina 
looked at her anxiously. Presently she said, ‘‘ Won’t 
you take something warm? Papa has a nice cordial, 
which, I think, will make you feel better.” 

_* “T don’t know but I would take a little,” was the 
reply, ‘‘if you will bring it to me; though I never 
take medicine.” 


80 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


Elmina went away with light steps, and soon 
returned with the cordial. Her aunt tasted it, but did 
not find it agreeable, and desired her to page it upon 
the table. 

“Ts this the room your mother used to have for. 
hers ?”’ 

‘No, ma'am; mamma’s room is opposite this,” 
said Elmina. 

‘Your father occupies that room, I dare say,” con- 
tinued her aunt. 

‘No; father sleeps in the bedroom leading from 
the parlor.”’ 

“Ah! I should lke to see your mother’s room; 
perhaps I should like it better than this.” 

“‘T think this room is a pretty one,’’ said Elmina, 
who was really disappointed that her aunt had ex- 
pressed no satisfaction in anythmg which she had 
arranged for her comfort. 

‘“Q, yes, this room is well enough; but I want you . 
to show me the other one.’ 

The young girl hesitated. After her mother’s 
death everything had been arranged in the apart- 
ment just as the dear departed liked best to have it. 
It had been then shut up, and no one had entered it 
since, save the bereaved*husband, and he only to weep 
and pray. Elmina hesitated; she could not bear to 
intrude upon the sacred place; but she feared to 
offend her aunt, and, with trembling steps, led the 
way. 

y O, what a beautiful room!’’ cried Mrs. Clement, 
the minute the door was opened. ‘‘O, what a pretty 
room! I’m sure this carpet is much handsomer 
than the one in the other room. Give me the light, 
child; I must look at this little workstand, it is so 
curious. What a nice bookcase! Did all these 
books belong to your mother?” 


ee: 
a 


“ NEW-COMERS.”’ 81 


“‘' Yes; most of them were presents from father.” 

‘‘ And these shells I suppose he got for her. What 
a nice room! I’m sure it is much pleasanter than 
mine! ”’ 

‘No; most people think the other the pleasantest 
chamber, for it overlooks the river. Mother liked 
this best because she could see her fiower-garden from 
the windew.”’ 

‘‘T den’t care anything about the river, but I like 
a garden very much. As I like this room so much 
the -best, I suppese no one will care if I occupy it 
instead of the other.’’ 

Elmina had been standing on the threshold during 
the foregoing colloquy. She had replied to every im-. 
pertinent inquiry in a gentle, almost timid, manner ; 
but now the indignant blood dyed her cheek, and she 
stepped forward into the apartment. ‘ Aunt J ane,’ 
she said, slowly and distinctly, ‘“‘aunt Jane, this 
chamber was my mother’s, and everything in it is 
sacred. She used to sit here much of the time, and 
father would come up here and talk with her when he 
was not too busy. It is my father’s desire that no 
one should occupy this room until I am old enough 
to have it for my own.” 

Mrs. James Clement looked at her niece in surprise, 
and with a vague idea that she had committed a slight 
impropriety. ‘‘O, well, I don’t care about it, child ; 
but it must be that your father loved her very oe 
or he would n’t be so superstitious.”’ 

‘Yes, indeed he did,” Elmina said; but her over- 
wrought ‘feelings would bear’no more control, and she 
burst into a passion of tears. Her aunt, who seemed 
struck with a sudden awe or superstitious fear, 
stepped quickly into the hall, and the weeping girl 
closed the door with a gentle, reverent touch. 

Elmina placed the lamp on her aunt’s dressing- 

a 


2: a? 
Wa eh, . n 
" > 

oF te 


t 


§2 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


table, and wished her ‘‘ Good-night,”’ in a tremulous 
voice. ‘There was an appealing, pleading expression 
on her countenance as she turned away. A true 
woman would have understood that mute appeal, and 
would have taken the motherless girl in her arms; ~ 
she would have caressed her tenderly, and kissed 
away her tears; she would have whispered loving 
words, and breathed an earnest prayer above her 
beautiful head. But Mrs. Clement understood not 
the meaning of that tearful glance, and replied 
‘ Good-night’’ in a cold and indifferent manner. El- 
mina stood in the hall and struggled with her tears. 
She could not define her emotions; but wounded feel- 
ing, and a sense of disappointment, swelled in her 
‘heaving breast. She had looked forward to the com- 
ing of her aunt with an unconscious hope that she 
would fill, in some degree, the aching void in her 
heart.. She had nursed sweet fancies concerning her, 
till the germs of affection were engendered, ready to 
expand luxuriantly at the first demonstration of love. 
But chilled and wounded was the upspringing affee- 
tion, and it fell back upon a heart yet quivering with 
the woe the death-angel had planted there. O, liow 
wild was the yearning for her mother then! It. 
required all her self-command to suppress a ery of 
anguish. 

O, it would have been a privilege could she have 
wept until that burning pain was dissolved in tears ! 
But tears are telltales, and she thought of her fath- 
er sitting sadly alone; so they were sent back: to 
their fountain. A moment longer she struggled with 
herself, and then, with composed features, she entered 
the parlor. The doctor was sitting at the table, lean- 
ing his head upon his hand; a look of settled melan- 
choly overspread his face, and his eyes were bent on 
the carpet with a vacant, ae gaze. He appeared 


‘i, 


i 
* 


—“NEW-COMERS.” 83 


unconscious of Elmina’s presence until she laid her 
hand upon his arm, and whispered, tenderly, ‘‘ Dear 
father ! ”’ 

Then he drew her towards him, and kissed her, 
but absently, as though his mind was far away. 

‘¢ Father, ’? — and her voice was sweet and cheer- 
ful as though no painful feelings had ever thrilled the 
chords of her being, — ‘‘ shan’t I sing and play to 
to you? You never ask me to now-a-days.” 

“¢ Certainly, my dear; I should like much to have 

ou.” 

He did not alter his position when Elmina seated 
herself at the piano. She did not stop to consider 
that quick, loud music would jar painfully upon the 
sensitive mind of her listener, or that tender, plain- 
tive strains would augment his melancholy ; but with 
an instinctive sense of propriety, which was with El- 
mina a peculiar gift, she chose a graceful, airy ballad. 
Her voice was clear and musical, and she sung with 
her whole heart. When she finished the piece, he 
changed his seat to one near the piano, and begged 
for another song with a tone of interest. She sung 
on, till her smothered anguish seemed wafted away 
on ‘the wings of her own song. 

After a time she ceased playing, and commenced a 
cheerful conversation. No one who had looked upon 
her unruffled brow and subdued smile, would have 
dreamed that an hour before that sweet face was con- 
vulsed with agony; or of the struggle which had 
taken place in her young heart. 

Her generous efforts at self-command were not unre- 
warded; for her cheerful voice and smile quite charmed 
away the shadows from her father’s brow, and he 
called her his ‘‘ sweet comforter.”’- 

Suddenly he said, ‘ Mina, do you know that you 
are very like your mother ?’ 


e 


84 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 

She left the music-stool to sit upon his knee, and 
laid her face on his shoulder to hide the tears — half 
of pleasure, half of pain—which his words had 
started. ‘Iam glad you think me like her, father ; 
I hope I shall grow more like her every day.” 

‘“T hope so, darling !” 

He held her tightly to his breast. In the silence 
that followed, each knew what was in the other’s 
’ mind,— mournful, tender thoughts of the loved one 
who had sought a purer home. There was a holy 
hush in their hearts, for each felt that the spirit of 
the dear one was with them, breathing comfort on 
their wounded spirits. In that embrace the hed¥ts of 
the father and child were woven closer together in 
holier, tenderer ties. Such moments are blessed to 
to the mourning heart, where Christian faith and hope 
have made their altar; they bring a sweet peace, — 
such peace as the Saviour left his disciples, — ‘‘ the 
peace that passeth understanding.” 

The clock was on the stroke of ten, and Elmina 
made a movement to retire, when her father gently 
detained her. ‘‘ Waita moment, Mina. I have a favor 
to ask; won't you sing ‘When shall we all meet 
again,’ for me? ”’ | 

The hymn had been a great favorite of her mother’s, 
and she had heard her sing it many times in her sweet, 
mellow tones; it was blended with her mother’s name. 
She feared she could not sing it, for there was a sud- 
den swelling in her throat, and her lips quivered. 
Her father observed her agitation; ‘I was wrong,” 
he said, “‘ to ask you; you need not try.” 7 

‘Yes, I will try.” With her face turned a little 
away from his, she sang. Her voice was wavering 
and weak at first, but she gained strength and com- 
posure as she proceeded, and was enabled to sing the 
last verse with surpassing sweetness. There were 


‘¢ NEW-COMERS.”’ 85 


tears in the doctor’s eyes as she finished. ‘‘ Bless 
you, darling!” he whispered, pressing his lips to her 
brow, ‘‘ bless you! it seems as though her spirit were 
singing through your voice.” 

‘Tt seemed so to me,” said Mina, softly; ‘‘ for I 
had no strength when I commenced.” 

Again her father kissed that pure brow; again he 
breathed a blessing upon her beautiful head, and then 
Elmina sought her pillow. 

O, lovely were the dreams which mingled with 
her rest that night! Sweet dreams of that land where 
the pastures are ever green, and the living waters flow 
in silver streams. <A band of angels kept holy vigils 
above her pillow, and she slept as only the pure in 
heart can sleep. 


CHAPTER X. 
CHANGES. 


THE shadow, which the coming of the death-angel 
had left upon the household, seemed to take a sadder 
and more melancholy tinge as the weeks passed by. 
Not that the affections of one for the other, which 
their mutual affliction had caused to flow in tenderer 
channels, were chilled or turned aside; but a sort of 
restraint, growing daily more manifest, destroyed the 
charm of the family circle. The new members did 
not. seem to take their places easily or naturally, 
though Elmina tried with all her tact and skill to 
adjust everything pleasantly. ‘‘ The very atmosphere 
was changed,” as Ann expressed it. There was some- 
thing wrong about the house, one could easily per- 
ceive, for the girl went about her duties with a clouded 
brow and inelastic step. Ann never allowed an op- 
portunity to pass of pouring all her vexations and 
troubles into Elmina’s ear, and no soothing words, on 
the part of the latter, could soften her one whit to- 
wards the objects of her displeasure. ‘‘ That woman,”’ 
as she designated Mrs. James Clement, ‘“‘is the 
most unreasonable creature in existence, and so igno- 
rant, too; always doing things differently from what 
the dear mistress did. And as for James, he was ten 
times the trouble that Master Frank and Clinton 
were.’’ ° 


Elmina heard this harangue daily, in addition to 
(86) 


CHANGES. 87 


her personal trials, and it was little wonder that the 
shadows settled upon her expressive face, and chased 
the sunshine from her heart. But she ever had a 
smile for her father, and it was her greatest anxiety 
that her aunt should be gracious and in good humor 
against his return. It was this anxiety for her fa- 
ther’s happiness which often checked a petulant reply 
or an angry burst of tears; for her temper was not 
yet proof against the unequalled insolence of her 
aunt’s conduct. Not that Mrs. Clement was inten- 
tionally cruel in her treatment of Mina, but she was 
incapable of appreciating her delicate and highly- 
toned mind; and, by her coarseness and inconsiderate 
selfishness, ‘made the life of the young girl almost 
insupportable. 

She never called Elmina by her name, always ad- 
dressing her as ‘‘child;” and the young girl would 
‘study her face and form in the glass, to discover if 
she were really so very childish in appearance. She 
pondered on the strangeness of this address until she 
shrunk from the word “ child,” in her aunt’s mouth, 
as from an epithet of reproach. 

Often did Frank and Clinton, with Mina and Dora, 
ramble over the green hills and through the quiet 
meadows. These were delightful seasons to our little 
band of friendly hearts, and served to knit in closer 
links the circle which friendship had long ago woven 
around them. At first James accompanied them, but 
he soon wearied of their quiet ways, and left them 
for more congenial spirits amovg the rude boys in the 
village. They were not much sorry when he did not 
go with them, for he always seemed one too many ; 
but if by chance Josie Lee joined them in their walks, 
their joy was complete. 

O, bright days of youth, when sorrow makes but 
| lighter traces on the heart! O , golden summer days, 


8S THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


whose perfect beauty is like a revelation of heaven to 
the children of men! 

Youth and summer are kindred spirits. Mature 
man, with the cares and duties of life, can never feel 
the inspiration of nature, as the untrammelled youth. 
The wild, strange beauty of the woods, even the out- 
gushing of the birds, makes no impress upon the spirit 
of him who counts loss and gain, or is striving for the 
gold that perisheth. Who has not, in his “ heart of 
hearts,’”’ though long years may have cast their shad- 
ows over him, a memory, even as a sweet dream, 
of a time when he felt the embrace of summer, as 
that of an angel from the upper spheres; a time when 
the voices of nature wove with the throbbings of his 
heart a melody, now exultant, now low and sweet as 
the echo of a heavenly song? ’T is then that the soul, 
trembling with its depth of bliss, hopes and dreams 
of immortality. 

But we are digressmg. Mrs. Clement early con- 
ceived a strong dislike of Clinton. Perhaps the sur- 
prise and reproach which she read in his speaking 
eye once when she was angrily lecturing Elmina, 
made her feel uncomfortable in his presence, and gave 
birth to her dislike; but jealousy was the principal 
cause of her antipathy. Clinton was at that time 
receiving the same favors which were lavished upon 
her son; and she realized that he occupied a place in 
the hearts of the doctor and his children which James 
might aspire to in vain. He was a fine scholar; he 
was respected and beloved; and all these circum- 
stances, in contrast with her own less-favored son, but 
nourished her hatred and jealousy. Clinton was not 
ignorant of her feelings towards him, and avoided her 
as muchas possible. James, who was in every respect 
his mother’s own son, was also jealous of Clinton. 
Clint was continually rising in school, and received the 


7 


CHANGES. i > ASG 


commendations of his teachers, while James remained 
in the same low place he had at first taken in his 
classes, and was often reprimanded for his idleness 
and inattention. Clint was a favorite with all the 
boys, who thought no game was complete unless he 
joined them; and James was daily left in the back- 
ground, gnawing his nails and sulkily looking at his 
unlearned lessons. Instead of emulating Clinton’s 
virtues, James hated him for being a better boy, a 
better scholar, and a greater favorite, than himself. 
He nursed his jealousy till it embittered his heart, 
and made him miserable. ‘The master sometimes in- 
judiciously compared the conduct of one with the 
other, and thus increased his hatred. He often taunted 
Clinton with his dependence upon his uncle, and called 
him pauper and beggar-boy. Clint bore all his coarse 
jests with the utmost good-humor, for a sense of su- 
periority and noble pride raised him above anger 
towards one for whom he had neither love nor respect. 

One bright afternoon Frank sat upon the piazza, 
reading, when James came and threw himself on the 
platform by his side. Frank perceived by his move- 
ments that he was in bad-humor ; but this so frequently 
occurred that it excited no alarm, and he read on, ap- 
parently unconscious of his presence. James moved 
uneasily about, evidently wishing to attract his cousin’s 
attention; but, failing in this, he at length exclaimed, 
as though he could no longer contain himself, “TI 
hate Clint Forrest! actually hate him! and I don’t 
believe he’s so mighty good either, as everybody 
seems to think he is.” 

‘What now?” cried Frank, laying down his book. 
‘ What terrible thing has Clint been doing?”’ 

‘Doing? why, he’s always daing something to 
make me mad. Just now he refused to let me copy 
those ugly equations out of his note-book; he said 


90 _ THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


he’d explain ’em to me; but I didn’t want any of 
his explanations if he was so cross he wouldn’t lend 
me his book; it would have saved me three hours’ 
work if he had. Now, I shall miss to-morrow again, 

and the master ’Il scold.” , 

‘‘T should think he’d be ashamed,” said Frank, 
gravely; ‘‘of course, he*did it only to get you down 
mm the class, and because he was afraid of cheating 
Mr. Hastings by showing you your lessons. I don’t 
wonder you hate him! ”’ 

‘‘ And then,”’ said James, not perceiving the irony 
in Frank’s voice, ‘‘it makes me all out of patience to 
hear him praised all the time, while I am scolded till 
I am sick of my life.” . 

‘“‘T think it is too bad,’’ rejommed Frank. ‘Clint 
ought to miss his lessons now and then, and get him- 
self into a scrape every little while, just to be even 
with you.” 

James looked up into his cousin’s face, and saw the 
roguery lurking round his mouth, and twinkling in 
his eyes. An angry flush mounted his forehead, and 
he leaned back against one of the vine-wreathed 
. pillars in silence. After a momentary pause, Frank 
spoke again. ‘‘ Now, in sober earnest, cousin James, 
I think you are a foolish boy to be so jealous of 
Clint. I advise you to follow his example, and you 
will find yourself a better favorite very soon.” 

‘“‘T shall notjfollow his example, Mr. Frank, for 
your advice! I don’t see anything so mighty good 
about him, for all everybody praises him up to the 
skies; he tries to make folks think he’s wonderfully 
good-tempered, but it is all hypocrisy. Yesterday he 
was awful mad at what one of the boys said; his eyes 
flashed like sparks of fire, and his face was hot enough 
to light a candle; he went towards hima step or 
two, and then turned round and went away as fast as 


CHANGES. ‘ 91 


he could. I-suppose he thought we should give him 
the credit of being good-natured; but I understood 
him too well for that.”’ ; 

“Clint ’s got a hot temper, I know; but he is trying 
to govern it, and it is much to his credit. He isa 
noble boy, and scorns a mean action, and I tell you 
again that you had better try and be more like hin, 
instead of telling how much you hate him.’’ 

‘“T tell you,” cried Clement, ‘‘I shall never take 
a begear-boy for my pattern. Because you happen 
to be a little older than I, you think you are privi- 
leged to lecture me as much as you please !”’ 

“QO, don’t be angry, Jimmy! I was only giving 
you a little well-meant advice. And I tell you truly 
that, if you scold so much about Clint, you'll lose 
what few friends you have; for there never was a 
more. universal favorite than Clinton Forrest.” 

‘Clinton Forrest,’ repeated James, snéeringly. 
‘TI don’t see what right a pauper, a beggar-boy, has 
tossuch a fine name. I suppose some foolish old 
woman gave it to him because he had none of his 
own.” 

‘You mistake, sir!”’ cried Frank, with rising. 
temper; “‘you mistake, —it was his father’s name, 
and his -by the best of right. And now I want you 
to understand, James Clement, that he is my dearest 
friend, and I will not hear him called beggar-boy by 
any one; the words are very displeasing to me, and [ 
desire you never to use them again in my presence.”’ 

‘Indeed! ”’ sneered James; ‘‘and so I must 
choose. my words when addressing your honor! [ 
certainly shall not choose my friends as you do, who 
prefer a beggar-boy to your own cousin.” 

“Did I not tell you I wouldn’t hear Clint Forrest 
spoken of in that manner again?” cried Frank, now 
really angry. ‘ What constitutes him a beggar-boy ? 


92 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


@ 
Is it because he sits at my father’s table, and because 
my father’s money pays for his schooling? If that 
makes him a beggar-boy, I’d like to know what you 
call yourself? Where’s the difference between you 
two? I7ll tell you the difference; Clint is grateful, 
and does all in his power to repay my father’s kind- 
_ ness, and you are jealous because another enjoys the 
same favors that you do yourself.” 

James started up in a towering passion, and con- 
fronted his cousin; but Frank’s flashing eye and erect 
figure intimidated the craven-spirited boy, and he 
turned away whimpering and muttering, ‘‘ You call 
me a beggar, do you? Very kind to your poor orphan 
cousin ;’’ and he passed round the corner of the house 
with the air of one grieved and offended beyond all 
endurance. Frank looked after him with mingled 
feelings of scorn and self-reproach. As his temper 
cooled, he felt lowered in his own esteem for yield- 
ing to passion in a discussion with one so childish and 
unreasonable. Presently he felt a light touch on, his 
arm, and a sweet, reproachful voice whispered, “‘ QO, 
how could you, Frank!” 

“Why, Mina, how you started me! ” said he, put- 
ting his arm about his sister. niga ais 

“Did I, Frank?” said Elmina. ‘‘I’m sure I did 
not mean to: but how could you speak such naughty 
words?” 

“Do what? say what? you little mystery.” 

‘* Now, don’t be so ignorant, Frank, for I was sit- 
ting by the window, and heard it all. James thinks 
you have called him a beggar, and has gone away 
very angry.”’ 
~ “I said nothing but what he deserved for his 
impudence.” 

“That is true,” said Elmina, ‘and I can’t blame | 
you for getting angry at his disagreeable sayings ; 


CHANGES. | 98 


but don’t you see that it will make trouble? He will 
tell his mother, and she ’Il feel insulted, and, may be, 
will go to father with a complaint. At any rate she 
will feel as though we were so selfish as to wish her- 
self and James away 5 and perhaps she ’ll be so angry 
as to really leave us.’ 

‘Why, Elmina,”’ said Frank, laughing, ‘‘ who ever 
heard you, our hopeful sunbeam, borrowing trouble 
before? I own I ought not to have said what I did 
to James; but I don’t believe it will hurt him, and 
though aunt Jane may take a fa it won’t last long, 
I dare say.” 

‘*T didn’t mean to borrow trouble,” said Elmina, 
soberly; ‘‘ for there’s enough of it without borrowing. 
But, if she should tell. papa, you’d excuse it to her, 
so that he might not be angry with you, would n't 
you, Frank? ” 

‘Ah! I see how it is. Mina, you are afraid father 
will be displeased with me; that is just like you. 
But don’t flatter yourself that I shall ever make any 
apologies to aunt Jane for anything I’ve said. I’m 
too proud for that.” 

‘©Q, brother!” said Elmina, in a sorrowful tone, 
“it might save a great deal of trouble if you should 
only say you were sorry, or something like it.” 

‘Never, Mina, if I were ever so sorry, would I 
acknowledge it to her. Id ask James’ pardon 
first |” 

‘You were not always so proud, brother. I have 
often seen you with your arms around our mother’s 
neck, telling of some wrong thing ‘you had done; and, 
only a short time ago I “heard you begging ‘Josie 
Lee’s forgiveness for a hasty Word you had spoken, 
as though you thought her opinion was worth a great 
deal.”’ ? 

‘‘ And so it is to me, and to any one who knows 


94 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


and loves her as Ido. I should be a mean, sneaking 
fellow to wound her feelings, or those of any true 
woman, and not make all the reparation im my power. 
I am surprised you don’t understand me Elmina; that 
you don’t see the difference, the reason why I could 
never make apologies to aunt, J ane. You feel the 
reason, though I can’t tell you.” 

“Veg, Hy said she, with a sigh, ‘‘I think I under- 
stand you.” 


Elmina felt a sensation of relief when the tea hour 
arrived, and her father was still absent visiting his 
patients. It was not their custom to wait long for 
him, and the family soon gathered round the supper- 
table, over which aunt Jane presided with a most 
frigid and haughty manner. She was apparently 
speechless, never addressing a word to the group of 
young folks around the board. James looked at 
Frank, from under his scowling eyebrows, with an 
angry, menacing glance, and curled his lip insult- 
ingly at Clinton. 


Clinton, seeing something was wrong, tried to Ge 
. perse the ‘cloud “enveloping them by starting a con- - 


versation ; but Frank answered only in monosyllables, 
and Elmina could not answer at all, so sensitive was 
she to any coldness or discord in their family circle. 
It was an uncomfortable meal, eaten in silence and 


haste, for each one was desirous of leaving the chilling 


atmosphere which chained their tongues and saddened 
their spirits. 

In an hour the doctor returned, and Elmina 
hastened to the dining-room to pour his tea and chat 
with him as usual ; but her aunt intercepted her in 
the passage, saying that she, would attend upon the 
doctor. With flushed cheeks the young girl returned 
to the parlor, where her brother had resumed his book, 


CHANGES. 95 


and was reading by the fast-fading light. He was 
unconcerned and indifferent ; she, trembling and appre- 
hensive. 

That twilight hour seemed interminable to her; 
she dreaded, yet desired, to have the moments pass. 
She wondered of what Frank was thinking when he 
laid his book aside and gazed, dreamily, upon the 
sweet landscape, over which the evening shadows fell 
with a softening grace. She felt that his revery was 
a pleasant one; so she did not disturb him, but softly 
drew her ottoman to his side, and sought to dissipate 
her anxieties by studying his placid face. 

She felt the blood flush to her brow when her 
father came into the room, followed by her aunt, and 
she bent her head so that she did not see the look of 
displeasure upon his face. 

Dr. Clement was of a generous, forbearing temper, 
and a frown upon his brow, or reproof from his lips, 
was of rare occurrence; but he was thoroughly angry 
now, for Mrs. Clement had talked to him until he 
was convinced that Frank had treated both herself 
and son with actual insult. 

‘‘ Frank, what do [ hear?”’ he said, with an effort 
at self-command; ‘‘ what do I hear? Your aunt 
Jane tells me that you. have taunted James of his 
orphanage and poverty, twitted him of his dependence 
upon me; even called him ‘beggar’! I am filled 
with surprise, for this is so unlike what I expected 
from you, so unlike your generous nature. Perhaps 
even now you can make some explanation which will 
palliate your fault. * Iftso; speak, I pray you.” 

Frank raised his head with a deprecating glance, 
and commenced to speak, with the intention of reliev- 
ing himself from the disgraceful imputation, when 
one look from his aunt changed his resolution, and he 
dropped his head in silence. 


96 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 

“Have you nothing to say, no explanation to 
offer?’ repeated the doctor sternly. 

‘““He ‘does not deny it?’’ cried Mrs. Clement 
pathetically; ‘‘he cannot deny it! O, I little 
thought, brother, that your children would be jealous 
of your kindness to me; but it is my fate, — poverty, 
dependence, and insult! I have borne all my troubles 
with fortitude; but this—O, this is too much even for 
me to bear!’’ and she threw herself*tragically upon 
the sofa, and buried.her face in her handkerchief. 

Frank’s eyes lighted with a scornful flash, and his 
lip curled disdainfully, as he replied: ‘‘ No, madam, 
I do not deny it! I deny nothing! ”’ 

‘There, do you hear him!” cried the lady, rising 
energetically; ‘“‘he denies nothing; then this is no 
longer a home for me ;—TI will not eat the bread of 
dependence given grudgingly and with insult.” She 
fell back again upon the sofa with the air of one over- 
whelmed with grief. The doctor looked at her as if 
half-bewildered, then turned to his son and said, in a 
tone of less severity, ‘‘ There is something in all this 
that I cannot understand. I have asked an explana- 
tion, which you have not chosen to give, and, as you 
deny nothing, I am constrained to believe that you — 
have been guilty of ungenerous conduct, —of such con- 
duct as I had hoped my son never would confess to. 
There is but one way in which you can atone for thus 
wounding the feelings of your aunt, and I trust you 
have the manliness to make an acknowledgment 
immediately.”’ , 

If Frank had obeyed the first impulse, he would 
have told him all; for he yalued his father’s good 
opinion highly; but pride and a contempt of his 
aunt’s ridiculous conduct kept him silent. 

The doctor waited a moment, and then left the 
room. He had not time to leave the hall before 


CHANGES. 97 


Elmina was by his side, saying, earnestly, ‘‘ Do not 
go away in anger, dear father; let me tell you how 
it was. Frank was not so very much to blame.” 

‘‘My dear,”’ said the doctor kindly, ‘‘ you look as 
anxious and grieved as though it were yourself who 
had incurred my displeasure, instead of your high- 
spirited brother.’ : 

‘‘Tisten to me papa, and [am sure you will for- 
give Frank.’’. In her earnest, truthful tones did 
Elmina repeat the conversation which had caused 
such a breeze in their usually quiet family. Gently 
excusing her brother, yet speaking kindly of James, 
she related the story without alteration or coloring. 
‘Thank you, my dear little girl,”’ said her father 
when she had finished; ‘‘ you ought to be called our 
peacemaker. Frank was quite excusable for getting 
angry with the saucy James; indeed, I wonder at 
his forbearance. I blame him only for not explain- 
ing the affair to me, though I presume I should have 
‘been too proud when I was of his age to say much 
for myself in the presence of a crying woman.”’ 

“Q, father,” cried Elmina, joyfully, ‘‘I am so 
glad you are not angry with him now! Won’t you 
go back and tell him? He must be miserable till you 
do.” ' 

‘Yes, Mina, I will go back; and I must tell the 
news which aunt Jane’s doleful story quite put out — 
of my head.” 

She led her father back in triumph. Her aunt 
retained her disconsolate position upon the sofa, and 
Frank sat leaning his head sorrowfully upon his 
hand. He raised his eyes, humid with tears, to the 
doctor, as he approached, and exclaimed: ‘ Forgive 
me, father! my silly pride shall no longer permit you 
to think me so much worse than I really am. I will 
tell it all —” | 

7 


98 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


‘““There’s no need of that, my son; Mina has got 
the start of you, and led me back to make peace 
between us.”’ 

Frank looked gratefully upon his sister, and took 
his father’s hand with a swelling heart. ‘‘ Aunt Jane 
will be as glad as any of us when she hears the truth 
of the story,’’ said the doctor. ‘‘ James was so blinded 
with anger that he exaggerated greatly.” 

“What am I to understand by this?”’ asked Mrs. 
Clement, rising to a sitting posture, and fixing her 
piercing black eyes upon her brother-in-law. * 

“Why, Jane, ’tis nothing but a boyish quarrel 
which you have ‘afflicted yourself so much about, and 
has no connection with you.’ 

‘Ah, I see, I understand,” she cried, resorting to 
her handkerchief again; ‘‘ you take sides with your 
son against me, and this is no longer a home for me 
and mine. QO, dear! 0, dear! I might have known 
this would have been the end of it!” She flung 
herself from the room in violent hysterics. 

The remaining party looked at each other in blank 
surprise. rank’s keen sense of the ludicrous over- 
came other sensations, and he burst into a laugh, 
saying, “It is as good as a play! I wish Cliné 
could have seen her.” 

‘The doctor laughed good- humoredly at this sally, 
which he did not reprove; Elmina looked sober, — 

‘‘ Tam sure she feels very unhappy, and I don’t think 
we oucht to laugh about her.”’ 

‘‘Nor do I, Elmina,” said the doctor; ‘‘ we should 
be indulgent to infirmities of temper, as re: as those 
~ of the body. She will see things more clearly in the 
morning, and, if we are all kind to her, will, I dare 
say, he quite reconciled. Now, F rank, I have some 
important news for you.” 

“Yes, father, I am all attention’? > 


CHANGES. | 99 


‘JT have received two letters, — one concerning 
yourself, and one about Clmton. You recollect Col. 
Whitney, my old college chum, who was here last 
summer? Well, he is going to spend two years in 
Kurope, principally engaged im important public busi- 
ness, but intends to spend some time in sight-seeing 
or ‘pleasure-hunting,’ as he terms it. He needs a 
secretary, and he does you the honer to say that he 
knows of no young man whom he should prefer for 
that office. He makes a most liberal offer, and desires 
an immediate reply. How does the project please 

ou?” 

‘“T should be delighted to travel, father; but I 
shall be twenty in two years, and of course could not 
enter college until after my return, should I accept 
Col. Whitney’s kind offer. Would it not be a long 
time to put it off?” 

“True; yet I am not certain that it would be 
wise to reject this fine opportunity. Iam not of the 
Opinion of those who think that man in immature 
years is unfit for receiving benefit. from travelling. 
The mind is fresh and unprejudiced in youth, and 
recelves impressions more readily than at a later 
period of life. In two years’ travel you might learn 
what would be of incalculable benefit to you, and 
undoubtedly would acquire an ease and polish of 
manner which is very desirable. Indeed, I advise 
you to accept the colonel’s invitation. I have such 
confidence in my friend, that I should be happy in 
trusting you to his guardianship.”’ 

‘‘Tf you approve, my father, I shall certainly go. 
I feared you would think it unwise, as my studies 
are unfinished; but, as you say, I shall be learning 
a great deal. I dare say I could learn more of the 
modern languages in travelling than in many years’ 
study. yrs : 


ou THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


“You would, undoubtedly, Frank; and, if nothing 
occurs to- prevent, you would be ready to enter upon 
the duties of your profession at twenty-five, which is 
in better season than I commenced.”’ 

‘Then shall not we consider the matter settled? 
I grow more pleased with the plan as we talk about 
it. But how soon does the colonel start ?” 

“In about a month. He will write more par- 
ticularly concerning it when he learns your decis- 
ion.’ 

‘Then, pray, write immediately, father, and tell 
him I accept his proposals, and will endeavor to per- 
form my duties to his satisfaction. ‘T'wo whole years 
in Europe! It seems like a dream. I cannot realize 
it,” 

‘Realize what?’ repeated Clinton, who had over- 
heard the last words as he entered the room. 

- Way, Clint, I’m going to Europe with Col. 
Whitney ! — actually going to Kurope!”’ 

‘Going to Europe? ”’ 

“Don’t look 80 mystified, Clint,’’ said the for 
laughing at the surprise depicted upon his face; ‘it is — 
a fact. Col. Whitney has invited him to accompany 
him on a tour through Europe, as his secretary, a 
he has concluded to accept.” 

‘* Accept! of course he’d accept such an offer,” 
said Clinton. ‘‘ Why, how do you feel, Frank? I 
should be crazy with joy had I sucha prospect. Why, 
boy, you don’t act as though you cared any thing 
about it!” 

“‘T am glad, Clint, very glad, though I don’t go 
Into ecstasies, as you would. I can be glad without 
taking the house- -top off with my antics.” 

‘Of course; but I never can be so cool about any- 
thing. I have to act as well asfeel.” 

‘‘Well, my boy, there’s a chdmce for your acting ; 


ee 


CHANGES. 101 


for I have a second letter, which is as important for 
you as the first was for Frank.” "ase 

‘For me?” said Clinton; ‘it is something good, 
I know, for good things never come singly.” 

‘Tt is something pretty good, I think,” said the 
doctor, ‘‘and you will be right glad, I’m sure. It 
seems that Mr. Evans took a great fancy to you at 
the time of the school examination. He told me at 
that time that he should n’t lose sight of you. Well, 
he and his lady (who, by the way, is an old school 
teacher of yours) have been travelling through the 
Canadas ever since they were here, and are intending 
to visit the principal southern cities this coming au- 
tumn, before they return to St. Louis, their place of 
residence. He writes that if you will go with him 
and assist him, during the intervals of the journey, 
in copying business papers, etc., he will pledge him- 
self to place you in a situation, where, with industry 
and economy, you may make a fortune in the world. 
Mr. Evans is an-influential business man, and would, 
I doubt not, be able to keep his promise.” 

‘“‘We is very kind,” said Clinton, modestly, ‘‘ to 
have so good an opinion of me; but I am surprised, 
sir, that he should take such notice of a poor orphan 
boy like me.” ; 

‘¢ All people are lable to their fancies and whims, 
and it is very plain that this Mr. Evans fancies you. 
There ’s nothing very wonderful about it, either, my 
boy; have you not always been my favorite ?”’ 

“OQ, my kind benefactor!” cried Clinton, with 
grateful warmth, ‘‘do not imagine me so vain as to 
suppose myself the least deserving of all your favors 

to me. It was from the fulness of your benevolent 
heart that you cherished the fatherless boy. And 
wherever I may go, whatever path I may walk in, 
your name will be remembered with the tenderest 
/gratitude.” «  ~ 


O27 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


‘“‘T understand you, Clinton ; I know all you would 
say; your grateful temper magnifies all that I have 
done for you. But we must talk of Mr. Evans’ pro- 
posals now.” 

“Tf you, sir, think best, I should be glad to go. 
Indeed, I think it would be wrong for me to neglect 
so good an opportunity of gaining my own livelihood.”’ 

‘“‘T advise you to go, by all means; and my bless- 
ing go with you,” said the doctor, earnestly. ‘‘ Mr. 
Evans writes that he shall be in Oakville next week, 
and hopes to find you ready te accompany him. El- 
mina will be your little seamstress, so that you shall. 
be ready in time.” | ry 

“ Good luck. to you, Clinton!” said Frank. ‘Bes:¥> 
fore I have my first patient you will be a rich meré 
chant, without doubt.” 

‘Thank you, Dr. Frank,” said Clinton, laughing; 
“But I guess your bright prophecy will be a, dong 
time in coming to pass. You will come home’from 
Europe a travelled gentleman, and I shall be a poor, 
plodding clerk.” : | 

‘The two young friends chatted cheerily ef their 
pleasant prospects, without thinking of the long sepa- 
ration before them, and the doctor went to his study, 
to answer the two important communications. Pres- 
ently a quivering sigh startled our two castle-builders, 
and they both turned, with one impulse, to Elmina, 
whom they had forgotten. She stood looking mourn- 
fully at them, her dark eyes swimming in’ tears, and 
her lip trembhing. Then they realized that their httle 
band must be broken up; their loving hearts widely 
severed. . : | 

“Q, Frank! Clinton! how can I part with both my~ 
brothers at once?” exclaimed Elmina, in a broken 
voice. ee 

‘Sweet sister, how can we leave you?” they cried 
together. They encircled her in their arms, they — 

é , 


De 


va 


ie ais el = & i 
; Sa jb eg 
We” so ee ae 


. CHANGES. 103 


“kissed her wet cheeks, and though each strove, with 
boyish pride, to drive back their tears, they would 
come, and fell upon her clustering hair. ‘ And 
Dora, she will cry, too,” said Elmina, remembering 
her sweet friend. 3 

‘One moment ago,”’ said Clinton, ‘‘ I was full of 
joy at the thought of going, and now it seems as 
though I cannot go.” 

“And I,” said Frank, “did not think how aba 
two years is to be from one’s home and friends.’ 

Some natures, weak and dependent, when there is 
a stronger heart to lean upon, grow brave and hopeful 
in proportion to the waning courage of those around 

: «them. Thus with Elmina. When she perceived the 

wainful struggles in the minds of her brothers, she for- 
tified her own heart to cheer and redssure those she 
loved. 

_ , How foolish we were,” she said, “to imagine that 

e should always live together in the same pleasant 
ay we have so long! Of course we must be sepa-y 
rated some time, and we must have brave hearts now 
the trial has come. What*a glad meeting we shall 
have some time! Why, my dear brothers, where 
would be' the delightful meetings we hear of, were 
there no partings?”’ 

‘Mina hasn’t forgotten her old trick of finding 
silver in every cloud,” said Frank. 

‘She is always a sunshiny, hopeful spirit,’ said 
Clinton. {It is Just like herself to conceal her own 
grief to cons@le us.’ 

“‘ Flatterers!”’ said Elmina, playfully. “I should 
scold you, were you not going away so soon. And 
don’t talk of my concealing grief, —as though I shall 
be completely forlorn when you are away! Not but 
that I shall miss you sadly,’’ she continued, in a 
changed voice, ‘ O, so sadly !”’ 


+ 


CHA PTEHRsA 1. 


THE FORTUNES OF CLINTON. 


‘© How happy is he born and taught, — 
That serveth not another’s will ; 
‘Whose armor is his honest thought, 
And simple truth his utmost skill !”’ 


THREE months after the incidents recorded in the 
previous chapter, Clinton Forrest visited for the second 
time, the City of Brotherly Love. Not as before did 
he tread those crowded, streets, with a bounding step 
and a heart throbbing with excitement and eager curi- 
osity, but soberly and thoughtfully ; a feeling of lone- 

iness pressed painfully upon him, for not one of the 
passing yaultitude had a thought or word for him. 

He entered a fashionable street, and passed along 
the line of elegant dwelling-houses, meanwhile pa- 
tiently comparing the names upon the door-plates 
with the superscription of a letter which he held in 
hishand. At length he paused before a door on which 
was engraved, in golden characters, ‘‘ Amos Gay;”’ 
and, after assuring himself that the names upon the 
etter and door- plate agreed, he ascended the steps 
and touched the silver bell-knob. His timid call was 
immediately answered, and, upon his inquiry for the 
master of the house, he was shown into a richly- 
furnished apartment. Here was assembled a chéerful 
group, consisting of an elderly gentleman, a fair, 


matronly lady, and two ee young girls. Una- 
(104) 





»- 









THE FORTUNES OF CLINTON. 105 


‘bashed by the stately elegance of everything about 
him, or by the haughty stare of the elder young lady, 
he advanced directly to the gentleman and presented 
his letter of introduction. Mr. Gay took the letter 
without a word, and then Clinton might have felt some 
embarrassment, had not Miss Fannie Gay handed him 
a seat, with a smile and a few sweet words, which 
made him quite at ease. ; 

After slowly reading the letter twice through, Mr. ° 
Gay arose and took Clinton by the hand, saying, ‘‘I 
am glad to see you, Clinton Forrest. Mrs. Gay, 
Marian, Fannie, this is Master Clinton Fofrest,” he 
continued, introducing him to the ladies. Clinton 
_ bowed gracefully, though with heightened color, and 
Fannie pronounced him, in her own mind, the hand- 
somest boy she had seen in all her hfe. 

“Tf all that my friend, Mr. Evans, states, is liter- 
ally true,”’ said Mr. Gay, r regarding our young hero 
with a pleasant smile, ‘‘ he certainly has done me a 
favor in introducing to my notice so enterprising and. 
talented a young man. But were you not here in 
the autumn, with Mr. Evans and his lady ?’ 

Clinton informed him that he had been for three 
months with Mr. Evans, acting as his secretary. 

‘‘So he writes,’ replied Mr. Gay, referring to 
the letter; ‘‘and that fact is a standing certificate 
for yourself. I know Evans well as a business 
man. You have come just in time, for I need another 
salesman, and, though you are young, I think I will 
give you a trial. I dare say you will suit admirably. 
Come into a library, and we will settle all the pre- 
liminaries.” 

While Clinton is closeted with the merchant, we 
will take the opportunity to relate to the reader the 
principal events which had conspired to place Clinton 
in his present novel position. 


106 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


Mr. and Mrs. Evans were delighted with the lad 
they had chosen for a travelling companion; indeed, 
his intelligence and vivacity, with his obliging and 
gentlemanly manners, made him a very desirable as- 
sociate. Philadelphia was their first stopping-place, 
and here they remained three weeks. In this great 
metropolis, the eager, inquiring mind of Clinton found 
a boundless source of interest. He labored faithfully 
to prove to his new friends that the confidence they 
reposed in him was not unfounded. Though novelty 
and excitement tempted him sorely, he passed the 
largest share of each day in copying and revising 
business papers, casting accounts, writing letters, 
etc. ; all of which he accomplished to the entire satis- 
faction of his employer. 

His first act, upon entering the city, was to write 
to Elmina, the loved companion of his childhood hours, 
the dear sister to whom he owed so much. His letter 
contained a sprightly account of the incidents of his 
journey, and was replete with brotherly affection. 
He eagerly waited for a reply, but the days came and 
went, and still no letter from Elmina. After a fort- 
night had passed, his impatient spirit could brook no 
longer delay, and he wrote again, desiring her to ad- 
dress him at Baltimore, where they were intending 
to pass some little time. But at Baltimore he was 
doomed to disappointment; for, though he haunted 
the post-office day after day, there was no missive for 
him. 

Much’ surprised and wounded at this unexpected 
neglect, he trjed to console himself by forming ex- 
cuses for Elmina; but he could think of none that 
seemed plausible. Hven if she were sick and unable 
to write herself, he felt that she should have answered 
his second earnest and importunate letter through 
some one else. Under a sudden impulse he com- 


# 


THE FORTUNES OE CLINTON. 107 
menced to write again; but his proud spirit rose, and 
he tore the sheet in twain. Then he thought of 
writing to the doctor; but he put the thought quickly 
away, for, if Hlmina valued his friendship so lightly, 
he coule not expect the continued regard of her father. 

O, it was a sore trial for the poor boy! He pon- 
dered upon it, and each day felt the disappointment 
and mortification more keenly. By Elmina’s unmer- 
ited neglect of him he felt as if severed from all the 
friends who had made the few past years of his life so 
useful and happy. He concealed the cause of his 
grief from Mr. and Mrs. Evans; yet they were not 
unobservant of his abstracted manner and sober coun- 
tenance. When his appetite forsook him his kind 
friends became really anxious; and, fearing he had 
worked too hard for his health, they planned excur- 
sions of pleasure, and took every pains to restore him 
to his former cheerfulness. » 

Grateful for their kindness, Clinton tried to appear 
cheerful, and he succeeded so well as to relieve all 
their anxieties. Now the travellers resumed their 
journey, with the intention of going to New Orleans 
as quickly as consistent with comfort. Mr. Evans 
had decided to pass the winter in New Orleans, as he 
had two brothers resident there, one of whom was 
sick with consumption. 

Clinton began to reproach. himself for giving up 
his Oakville friends so easily. ‘‘I will write to dear 
Josephine Lee,” he thought; ‘‘she must be glad to 
hear from her brother, as she always called me; and 
Mina possibly had some reason for not writing before, 
and may now be wishing to know where to direct a 
letter. I will write a note to her, and inclose it in 
Josie’s letter.” No sooner was the resolve formed 
than acted upon, and then his spirits rose ten degrees, 
inspired with hope and pleasing expectation. He re- 


“ 


108 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


quested Josephine to address him at a.town nearly a 
week from them in their journey, and where he knew 
his friends intended to stop a few days to rest. This 
arrangement, he felt sure, would give sufficient time 
for a letter to reach him, even if Josephine should be 
a little dilatory, which seemed’ to him would not be 
the case. He was so strong in hope, that, when he 
arrived at B , and found no letter waiting for him, 
he would not acknowledge to himself that he was any 
disappointed. But hope diminished every day, and 
when, on the sixth day (the last of his stay in B yf 
he heard the dreaded words, ‘‘ Nothing for you,” he 
could not restrain the tears of disappuintment which 
gushed from his eyes; and, when alone in his cham- 
ber, he gave unrestrained vent to his grief. 

“OQ, Josephine! Elmina!” he cried to himself in 
sorrow; ‘‘you have been very, very kind to me; 
too kind; for now [e@know that all your kind . 
acts were performed through goodness of heart, not 
friendship er affection. My heart is almost broken! 
I was wrong to expect that two such lovely and 
accomplished ladies would correspond with a poor 
orphan boy like me. I will trouble them no more with 
my letters; but some time in the years to come they 
may not be ashamed to own me as a friend. Ah! 
but Elmina must be changed! Could such a little 
angel as she was become a proud, scornful woman ? 
No, that could not be! Forgive me, dear Mina, for 
such a thought. And’ Josie Lee’s last words were so 
cordial, I thought they were sincere. If such as she 
grow cold so soon, friendship is little worth to me. , 
Q, father, mother, sisters, brothers —there are none for 
me—none on earth from whom I can claim affection! ”’ 

Thus did poor Clint mourn over his slighted friend- 
ship; and, indeed, it was.a trial of no small magni- 
tude for one situated like him. Josie and Mina had 








THE FORTUNES OE CLINTON. 109 


stepped into his unoccupied affections, and, at their 
call, many friends had gathered around him; but of 
all, these two were the dearest. 

A resolve grew up in Clinton’s mind, strong and 
deep, that he would never force himself upon the no- 
tice of any, merely because they had befriended his 
unfortunate childhood. His proud spirit forbade 
another attempt to gain the attention of his former 
friends in Oakville. “I will bid a long ‘ good-by’ 
to Oakville,’ was his mental exclamation; ‘ but 
when I am a man,’’—and his head rose, while a 
half-exultant smile gleamed through the falling tears, 
— ‘fwhen I am a man, I will return, and then they 
shall not be ashamed to take me by the hand; for, 
God helping me, I will earn an honorable name 
among men. ‘Though Josie Lee may forget the poor 
boy to*whom she was so kind, I will never forget her 
, good instructions.” Thus did Clinton, in the midst 

of his sorrow, form high resolves for action; and the 
sequel will show to the reader how well he acted upon 
them. | 

Mr. Evans was greatly shocked, upon arriving at 
New Orleans, to see the ravages disease had made 
upon his invalid brother. Towards spring the sick 
man revived, and his physician declared that a trans- 
Atlantic voyage would be beneficial, and expressed a 
conviction that he might live several months in salu- 
brious and sunny Italy. Mr. Evans felt it his duty 
to accompany his brother, and with the kind offices of 
affection smooth his decline to the grave. It was 
soon arranged that they should go in March, and Mrs. 
‘Evans was to go with them. Mr. Evans felt anxiety 
and regret on Clinton’s account. He had promised 
to place him in a lucrative situation under his own 
supervision; but, after the sudden turn affairs had 
taken, that would be impracticable. Clinton begged 


y 


110 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


him to feel no anxiety for him, and said that if he 
would procure him a clerkship in some mercantile 
house, he would be satisfied. Mr. Evans felt confi- 
dent he could do that, and, after considering the mat- 
ter a little time, concluded to send him to his old 
friend, Mr. Amos Gay, a wealthy merchant of Phil- 
adelphia. 

Clinton bade an affectionate and regretful adieu to 
his friends. He stood gazing upon the ship which 
bore them away, until the white sails faded to a speck 
i the’ distance, and then turned away with an 
indescribable feeling of loneliness. 

At parting, Mr. Evans placed a letter in his hand, 
saying, ‘‘ Give this to Mr. Gay, and believe me, dear 
boy, I feel assured it will secure you the attention 
and respect of that gentleman. Serve him ag indus- 
triously and faithfully as you have me, and I have no 
fears for you. Good-by, and may God bless Yous Pay 

Saddened and somewhat bewildered by the chang- 
ing events of the past weeks, yet undiscouraged, our 
young friend turned towards Philadelphia. The 
reader is already acquainted with the manner of his 
reception by Mr. Gay. The merchant was greatly 
prepossessed in favor of the frank, handsome boy, and 
readily engaged him for a month on trial. 

Now behold Clint Forrest in a new and untried 
- position, yet one very congenial with his tastes and 
capacities. He studied to gain the approval of his 
employer, and succeeded beyond his highest hopes. . 
He boarded in Mr. Gay’s family, and sat at the same 
table. Miss Marion Gay remonstrated with her fa- 
ther upon the impropriety of treating a mere clerk with 
puch respect; but the old gentleman was determined 
it should be so, out of regard for Mr. Evans, and-the 
young lady was obliged to acquiesce. Clint was not 
long in winning the affection of the whole family. 


THE FORTUNES OF CLINTON. 111 


Mr. Gay pronounced him a jewel of a clerk; the 
lady of the mansion thought him the most gentle- 
manly lad of her acquaintance; Fannie loved dearly 
to laugh and chat with him; and even Marion ac- 
knowledged that he was a very pleasant addition to 
the family circle. 

Clinton possessed a ready tact and a peculiarly pleas- 
ing manner, which made him a most successful sales- 
man. It was not long before it was acknowledged by all 
in the establishment that he was the quickest and most 
clever clerk among them. In fact, he created quite 
an interest in the hearts of the buyers of silks and 
ribbons. (Clint had grown rapidly of late, and 
appeared older than he really was.) The old ladies 
were charmed with his respectful attention to,them ; 
the middle-aged praised his polite and genteel man- 
ners, and the young girls thought him so handsome 
and witty : each and all were desirous of being waited 
upon by the black-eyed little clerk. 

At the end of a month Mr. Gay engaged him for 
a year at a liberal salary. When Clint modestly 
expressed his surprise at his geferosity, his kind 
patron assured him that, if he were always as faithful, 
the indebtedness would all be on his own part. 
Though Mr. Gay was a worthy man, he was some- 
what irritable, and often very angry at the merest 
trifle; but Clinton was avowedly his favorite, and ‘ 
every accident or short-coming on his part was over- 
looked with the utmost good nature. Clinton was in 
a dangerous position for one of his susceptible age; 
but without being at all elated by the smiles and 
praises lavished upon him, he performed his duties 
quietly and humbly. We have spoken of him as be- 
ing proud-spirited, yet it was not that kind of pride 
which is stimulated by flattery or preferment, but the 
principle belonging peculiarly to noble, self-reliant 


112 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


minds. It was this very pride which lifted him above 
all feelings of vanity. ‘There was one who looked 
upon our successful hero with an envious eye. A 
young man named Jackson, who had been connected 
with the house from a boy, — first as errand-boy, 
then gradually rising to more important places till he 
had become one of the first clerks, —became extremely 
jealous of him. He had secretly looked for still 
greater preferment, and, through the agency of the 
junior partner, his uncle, he had flattered himself 
that, at a future period, his name would be added to 
the firm. Jackson considered Clinton as his rival, 
and, when he saw how he was beloved by Mr. Gay, he 
wickedly determined to injure him in the opinien of 
their employer. 

Though Clinton possessed the happy faculty of 

making the patrons of the store pleased with himself, 
and with the articles he vended, he was too conscien- 
tious to take advantage of the unsuspecting or igno- 
rant. Jackson, ever ready to find fault with him, 
scornfully called him ‘‘ Honest Clint,” and took every 
occasion to deride @his punctilious regard for truth. 
He would often hint to Mr. Sands, his uncle, that 
their wonderful little clerk was not such a genius after 
- all, for he missed many a good bargain. 
‘You are more nice than wise,’’ Mr. Sands would 
say to Clint. ‘This silly whim of yours will spoil 
you after all, and it is too bad when you have such a 
fine faculty. There comes a country woman; now 
display your genius; you can sell her anything you 
please at your own price.”’ 

But Clinton was not to bé flattered or frightened 
away from the high standard which his native integ- 
rity declared was right. He was obstinate, so Mr. 
Sands said, and he complained to his elder partner, 
who, laughingly, declared that honesty was so rare a 


THE FORTUNES OF CLINTON. 113 


a fault it was quite a novelty, and that Clint should 
have his own way. 

Jackson was in despair, and vented his jealousy by 
invidious fault-finding. ‘‘ You were a fool,’ he said 
to Clinton one day, ‘‘to sell that lawn for three 
shillings. The old woman thought it so fine that she 
would have taken it at four shillings.’” 

‘“‘T presume so,’’ said Clinton; ‘‘ but she paid all it 
was worth, and only ten minutes ago I sold some off 
the same piece to the rich Miss Morton for three 
shillings. What reason can you give for making so 
much difference between the two?”’ 

‘“‘Of course, if you had asked Miss Morton more 
than that, she would have laughed in your face, but 
that old woman would have thought it all right.” 

‘* J should not have thought it right to cheat a poor 
old lady in that way!” cried Clinton, indignantly. 

‘Hallo, boy! don’t be so waxy,” said Jackson, 
insultingly. ‘‘ No such thing as cheating about it. 
She would n’t have been obliged to take it unless she 
chose. So, where’s the harm?” 

‘‘T shan’t stop to reason the matter with you, 
but while I stay here I shall not play with my con- 
science to please any one.”’ 

“While you stay here!” repeated Jackson, with 
emphasis; ‘‘ that’s well put in; for, mark my word, 
young sir, though you are up now, there’s a chance 
for you to come down.” 

Saying these malicious words, the young man 
turned away, and Clinton forgot his vexation in the 
pleasure of measuring off a yard of ribbon, and a half- 
minute’s chat with sweet Fanny Gay. 


Lovely spring had stepped aside for queenly sum- 
mer, and summer was now about to yield her sceptre 
to the glowing autumn. ‘The time had passed profit- 

8 


114 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


® 
ably and pleasantly with Clinton; and, in spite of his 
envious companion, he was steadily growing in the 
affections and respect of all around him. But there 
was a cloud in his horizon; yet he was happily uncon- 
scious of the rising storm. 

Late one afternoon several large bales of costly 
goods were received, and there was much running and 
confusion in getting them arranged for evening sale. 
On opening a package of rich silks, they were dis- 
covered to be considerably damaged. Mr. Sands was 
much vexed at this circumstance; for the silks were 
of a new style, and he had hoped to make quick sale 
of them. He stood musingly a few moments, and 
then said to his nephew, ‘‘ We can dispose of these 
if we only take the right way. The store will be 
thronged to-night; and we must make the best of it. 
Clint Forrest can, if he is not too wilful, dispose of 
every damaged piece; he is such a favorite with the 
ladies that none would mistrust the possibility of his 
palming off bad silk upon them.” _ 

“Ta, uncle,” replied Jackson, ‘‘ you can’t coax 
‘honest Clint’ to carry on any such game, he’s such 
a mighty pious chap! ’ 

“T shan’t coax him, but order!” said Mr. Sands, 
impatiently. ‘‘ You go call him to me, and I’ll give 
him his directions.”’ 

On a settee, at a little distanee from the scene of 
this colloquy, sat a gentleman apparently engrossed 
m reading; but a close observer could have seen, from 
the keen glances which he now and then threw over 
his paper, that he understood the state of affairs, and 
was interested in the result. He was of a portly 
figure, and possessed a countenance strikingly intel- 
ligent. His broad: white brow overshadowed a pair 
of eyes of the clearest, darkest blue. There was a 
pleasant light in them when he smiled; but, when 


\ 


THE FORTUNES OF CLINTON. 115 
fixed earnestly upon one, they seemed capable of 
reading the inmost thought. .The timid or guilty 
would have shrunk abashed from a glance of those 
keen, searching eyes. His mouth was large, but the 
snowy teeth, and the benevolent, genial smile which 
hovered round it, relieved it of all unpleasantness. 
He appeared easy and self-possessed, and was evi- 
dently a leisurely gentleman. When Clinton appeared, 
saying that he was ready to receive Mr. Sands’ 
instructions, the gentleman’s face lighted up with a 
new interest, and, though the conversation was carried 
on in an under tone, he looked as if he understood it 
_all by intuition. 

‘‘T want you to take your station here, Clinton,”’ 
said Mr. Sands. ‘‘ Arrange everything in’ the most 
favorable position, and make it your business to sell 
these silks. Sell every piece to-night, if possible! ’ 

“But these silks are all more or less injured, sir.” 

“ Some of the pieces are not quite perfect, I know,”.” 
replied the merchant, a little uneasily; ‘ but that’s” 
nothing to you; your duty is to sell them.” 

There was a flush on Clinton’s brow as he said, 
deprecatingly, ‘‘ Will you be so kind, sir, as to let 
me work somewhere else? I think Mr. Jackson 
would succeed better in selling the silk than I should.” 

‘‘There is no one who could succeed better than 
you, if you only use your wits to the best advantage ; 
so don’t make any excuses, but do just as I tell you.” 

‘* But, sir,” pleaded the boy. , 

‘“No ‘but sirs’ to me!’ shouted Mr. Sands, 
entirely thrown off his guard; ‘‘obey me!” The 
clerks looked up from their writing at the outbreak, 
to see the subject of this imperative command; and 
some of the customers turned round in surprise. 
Blushing and mortified, Clinton passed behind the 


counter, and commenced arranging the multitudinous 
“ 


Tie? THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


articles with which it was strewed. Mr. Sands looked — 
at him sternly for a moment, then said, in a low voice, 
as he turned away, ‘‘As you value your position in 
this house, oe Forrest, you will obey my direc- 

tions.’ 

Clinton Vaninted his work with burning checks 
and downeast eyes. His mind was in such a tumult 
that his actions were confused, and he stood bewildered 
at his own awkwardness. Though Jackson was busy, 
he watched him with one eye, and chuckled over his 
discomfort. The gentleman on the settee threw down 
his paper and leaned carelessly back with half-closed 
‘eyes, yet he could see Clinton’s face, and, from its” 
expressive features, read the workings of his soul. 

When the lamps were hghted Clint drew a sup- 
pressed sigh, and clasped his hands convulsively, as 
if that moment his fate was sealed. The keen eyes 
watching him opened suddenly, and their possessor 
started as if he had a mind to leave his seat; but, 
after a momentary hesitation, he leaned back again in 
the same dreamy attitude as before. 

A little girl now asked for some gingham, and 
Clinton, blessing her in his heart that it was not silk ~ 
she desired, waited upon her politely. A lady called 
for satin, another for delaine, cambric, &c., &c. The 
ladies were very obliging, for they seemed to demand 
everything but silk. He began to breathe more — 
freely, when an elderly lady, with a stately air, 
approached. A nervous fear possessed him that she 
would ask for silk, —.yes, he knew she would want 
silk! Though the lady spoke quietly, he fancied 
her tone startlingly loud as she said, ‘I wish to look 
at your nice silks.”’ ; 

The dreaded moment had come! With a great 
effort at self-control, he displayed the shining fabrics, 
and, with composure that surprised himself, com- 


THE FORTUNES OF CLINTON. aig 


mented upon their richness of style and coloring. 
The fair purchaser turned over pattern after pattern, 
with a dissatisfied air. ‘‘ Have you no other greens 
than these?” she asked. 

‘That piece under your hand is very beautiful, 
madam.’’ 

‘‘ Very true; but I want something darker. There 
is a piece which I think will be just the thing,” she 
added, pointing to a pile of dark patterns upon a shelf. 

With a feeling of infinite relief, he threw down a 
piece of dark green, which he knew to be of excellent 
‘quality. The lady pronounced it to be ‘just thé 
thing,” and bargained for the whole of it. 

Then two young ladies wished to look at black silk. 
With a trembling hand, Clinten displayed the article. 
in demand. ‘The piece which appeared to please them 
best, though fine and glossy, was so much injured as 
to be nearly worthless. He tried to turn their atten- 
tion te some other pattern, but they seemed quite set 
upon that one. 

The girls were dressed in deep mourning; and, 
though genteel in appearance, it was iden they 
were far from being wealthy. The tenes of their 
voices, as they conversed softly with each other, were 
«sad and touching. There was something very inter- 
- esting about them. ' 6 

“Tam afraid we can’t afford it, sister,’’ said one, 
gently. 

‘‘T know it is high,” said the other; ‘‘but it ap- 
pears to be an excellent piece, and you know ’tis 
always economy to purchase a good article.” 

Clinton drew back respectfully while they discussed 
. the question. Presently the elder one, turning a 
pale, sad countenance towards him, desired him to 
measure off two dress patterns. 

The gentleman on the settee leaned breathlessly 


¢ 4a 
co 


118 THE HARVESE OF LOVE. 


forward, while Clinton, ignorant of the keen scrutiny 
to which he was subject, hesitatingly balanced the 
yard-stick in his hand. ‘‘ Young ladies,’’ said Clin- 
ton, with sudden resolution, ‘‘{ am sure that silk 
would not suit you. I cannot deceive you; the most 


of it is badly damaged. I will show you some which 


I know is perfect, and, though it is better in quality, 
you shall have it at the same price.”” So saying, he 
took from the shelf a piece of excellent quality, which 
had been on hand several weeks. ‘The ladies expressed 
themselves satisfied, and, thanking him for his candor, 
departed with their purchase. 

Jackson, who had watched Clinton exultingly, now 
went to Mr. Sands, and told him that Clinton had lost: 
half a dozen good chances for disposing of the injured 
silk; that he was selling old silk instead of the new, 
and telling everybody that the goods were damaged. 

Glowing with passion, Mr. Sands called the boy 
aside. “You are an impudent, audacious fellow !”’ 
he cried. ‘‘ You have most insultingly disregarded 
my commands! I wish Mr. Gay were here. I think 
this would’open his eyes.a little.” 

“I, too, wish he were here,” said Clinton, calmly. 
‘TY am certain he would stand my friend in this in- 
stance.’”” ‘ ‘ 

“This is intolerable ! ”’ dxclaimen the merchant, 


_ with an assumption of imsulted dignity. ‘In Mr. 


Gay’s absence, you consider yourself at the head of 
the establishment; but you will find that there are 
other wills here besides yours. or the present you 
must change places with Jackson, and to-morrow you 
will hear more upon the subject. 

Without a word, Clinton passed to the lower end 
of the store, as Sands directed, His head was erect 
with manly dignity, and his eye burned with scornful 
indignation. ‘The gentleman who had watched him 


THE FORTUNES OF CLINTON. 119 


with so much interest, noted his appearance with a 
triumphant smile, and, nodding his head emphatically, 
as if to express his approbation, he folded his paper 
and leisurely left the store. 

Mr. Gay had been absent from the city on a short 
pleasure-excursion; and when he returned, on ‘the 
morrow, his partner gave him an exaggerated and 
misrepresented account of Clinton’s conduct. The 
persecuted boy was called into his private counting- 
room for a conference with him. ‘The old gentleman 
was very angry, and, like all persons in that state, 
exacting and unreasonable. Clinton readily perceived 
from his countenance that an explanation, at that 
time, would be worse than useless. ‘‘ Well, young 
man,’’ were the words that saluted his ear, ‘‘ you have 
gone to work strangely during my absence ; you have 
been guilty of most reprehensible conduct; you have 
meanly taken advantage of my favoritism; you have 
insulted my partner, and attempted to take the order- 
ing of affairs into your own hands; you have under- 
valued my goods, and shown yourself very careless 
of my interests.’’ | 

The angry man paced the narrow apartment, as 
waiting for a reply; but the poor boy was almost 
breathless at such unexpected and undeserved charges. 

‘J don’t wonder you are silent; silent with shame! 
I did think. you were worthy of my affection; but I 
now say that you are ungrateful — unworthy of my 
patronage.” 

“QO, my dear sir, do let me explain it to you —” 

‘¢ Explain!’ interrupted Mr. Gay; ‘‘ I don’t want 
any explanation. Hasn’t Mr. Sands told me the 
whole story, and isn’t his word to be believed? But, 
Clinton,” he continued, more calmly, for his dis- 
tressed countenance softened him somewhat, ‘if you 


120 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


will promise to make amends, and comply with Mr. 
Sands’ orders, perhaps we can overlook this.” 

‘7 will comply with all reasonable commands; but 
T can’t sell goods that I know to be damaged.” 

‘Not a word about damaged goods. Damaged 
goods in my store, sir!’’ cried the merchant, hotly. 
‘You shan’t stay in my employ a day longer, unless 
you promise to obey implicitly all my directions and 
those of my partner. I’m determined on that! So, 
will you promise ?”’ 

Though greatly agitated, Clinton answered, respect- 
fully, ‘‘I am sure I ought not to make such a prom- 
ise; will you please to let me go away now,. for I 
know you would not wish me to make the promise, if 
you knew just how it was.” . 

‘“No; I shan’t let you creep round me. I want 
your word now. Will you promise ?”’ 

Nose? 

. “Then I discharge you from this moment! You 
are no longer my clerk. I command you to leave 
my premises immediately.” 

Half-astounded by these words, Clinton advanced, 
with an imploring look, towards Mr. Gay. 

“Go!” cried the enraged man, poimting to the 
door; ‘‘go! I care not if I never see you again.”’ 

Clinton needed no further command, and, vainly 
striving to compose his outraged feelings, he turnéd 
his steps towards the mansion that, fer five happy 
months, he had called home. He ascended to his 
chamber, unobserved by any of the family, and hast- 
ily placed his clothes in his trunk. Then he hailed 
a passing coachman, and desired him to carry it to 
J ’s Hotel. Now he tried to collect his disor- 
dered thoughts, and arrange some plan of” action. 
For a moment he was tempted to remain in the house 
until Mr. Gay returned, as he imagined he might — 








THE FORTUNES OF CLINTON. 121 


relent towards him when his temper had cooled; but 
he felt too much injured and outraged to harbor the 
thought of suing for favor; and, even should Mr. 
Gay voluntarily restore him to his former position, 
he knew that both Sands and Jackson were his ene- 
mies; and, such being the fact, he felt little desire to 
remain. ‘‘ Yes,” he said to himself, ‘‘he bade me go, 
and I will go; but first I must say good-by to Mrs. 
Gay and the young ladies.” Though he tried to ap- 
pear calm and self-possessed as he entered the parlor, 
where the ladies were seated, Fannie instantly noticed 
his altered looks. . 

‘“* Are you sick, Clinton?’ she asked, kindly. 

‘No, dear Fannie; I have come to bid you and 
your mother and Miss Marion good-by.”’ 

‘“ How does that happen??? said Mrs. Gay. “I 
hope you are not going to:leave us.’’’ 


“Yes, madam, "T must leave immediately. IT am | 


no longer in your husband’s employ.” 

0, you mustn’t go off!’ said Fannie. ‘‘ What 
makes you dissatisfied? Something has vexed you, 
I know, for I see ,you are angry now, though you 
try to speak calmly.” 

‘‘T have no choice,” said Clinton. ‘ Your father is 
very angry with me, ‘and has discharged me.’ 

‘‘ Discharged you!’’ cried Fannie, incredulously. 

Mrs. Gay looked surprised. ‘‘ You had better stay 


till Mr. Gay returns. He is very hasty sometimes, . 


and I dare say you will remain with us yet.” 

““T thank you, dear Mrs. Gay; but circumstances 
have occurred which make it impossible for me to 
stay. So I must say ‘ good-by’ to you.’ 

‘hen you are really going?” said Fannie, with 
starting tears. 

“Yes, I must,” said Clinton, resolutely. ‘‘ You 
will think of me, sometimes, Fannie? ”’ 


in 
me ¢ 





122 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


‘Yes, yes, very often.” 

‘Q, you will be back again in less than a week,” 
said Marion, cheerfully ; “father will search Phila- 
delphia through before he’d go without you, even if 
he does send you off ina passion. Good-by, Clint!” 
and she gave him her hand, with a pleasant smile. 
He shook hands with Mrs. Gay, and once more with 
Fannie, and hastened away, before they had time to 
detain him longer. 

‘‘T wonder what Clinton has done to anger father 
so much?” said Mrs: Gay. 

““T don’t believe he has done anything wrong,” 
said Fannie, decidedly; ‘‘and I say it is too bad in 
papa to send him away without a minute’s warning!” 
The young girl buried her face in her a to hide 
her streaming tears. 

Marion looked at her weeping sister, ite a pecu- 
liar smile played round her lips. If she had spoken 
her thoughts aloud, she would have said, ‘‘ If they 
were not such mere children, I should say it was a 
lucky accident which separates my little sis and this 
handsome, black-eyed boy so soon.”’ 


CHAP UDE R: XoL Eb. 
NEW DEVELOPMENTS. 


WEARIED and disheartened, Clinton leaned against 
a jutting window, where varied autumn fruits were 
temptingly displayed to allure the passer-by. It 
was a rare, golden September day, whose very bright- 
ness mocked the sad one. He took off his hat, and 
the soft breeze and glittering sunbeams played with 
his jetty locks, as he sighingly thought of the vexa- 
tions and disappointments of the past two weeks. 
How many streets had he traversed and retraversed ; 
how many curt replies, cold rebuffs, and insulting 
denials, he had received; how often had his heart 
sunk with despondency, or throbbed with indignation 
and wounded feeling, in his vain search for employ- 
ment ! 

Kyen the smallest merchant insisted upon good 
references; and if poor Clint acknowledged that he 
had been the clerk of the rich Amos Gay, then came 
a long series of questions, with the invariable conclu- 
sion that he would ‘‘ not suit.’”’ Then he sought for 
other kinds of employment; and when his small 
stock of money.was nigh spent (Mr. Gay, in his 
passion, had forgotten to pay him), his humble in- 
quiry was for ‘‘anything to do.”’ By chance jobs he 
now and then earned a few pennies; but the finger of 

; (128) 








124 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


fate seemed pointing sternly at him, and hurting all 
hearts from him in coldness. 

‘‘T will leave the city immediately,”’ he said to 
to himself; ‘‘it 1s of no use for me to stay here 
longer; fate is against me. I will go to Oakville, and 
see if all have changed as have Josie and Mina. The 
doctor’s last words were, ‘Clinton, remember I am 
your true friend. In any trouble or emergency, do 
not fear to apply to me.’ I will not accept anything 
from him, but his influence will certainly secure mea 
place where I can obtain an honest livelihood.” ° 

But Clinton could not put his resolution into im- 
mediate effect, as he had not sufficient money to 
earry him to his former home. Disagreeable as was 
the task, he must renew his search for work, and 
earn the requisite sum. 

‘Sir, I am very anxious to get some work; could 
you employ me, even for a few days?” he said toa 
gentleman he was passing. 

The gentleman stopped short, and stared at him as 
if something in his appearance or his petition sur- 
prised him greatly. 

‘‘T am in search of some honest employment, ‘i 
Clinton said, a little abashed by the keen, questioning 
glance which followed the first look of wonderment. 

‘“Q, you.want employment, honest employment? 
That ’s well. But what do you prefer to do?”’ 

‘‘T should prefer to perform the duties of clerk 
or secretary ; but I am ready and willing to do any-- 
thing.” 

‘What have you been doing, and who has em- 
ployed you?” 

Clinton hesitated; then, remembering he had no 
cause to be ashamed to confess that he had been dis- 
charged from Mr. Gay’s establishment, he answered — 


NEW DEVELOPMENTS. 125 


candidly, ‘‘I have been clerk in Mr. Amos Gay’s 
store during the spring and summer months.” 

‘“‘ But you have left him, and are now seeking some 
‘honest employment’ ?”’ said the gentleman, with a 
tone of irony, and an insinuating smile, which brought 
a flash to Clinton’s eye, and’ dyed his face with crim- 
son. Clinton looked up questioningly into the gentle- 
man’s face, but he could read nothing there; he was 
evidently playing with him ‘1 -see you have 
nothing for me to do, so I will not trouble you 
longer,’ said the boy, with-the air of one who does 
not choose to have his honor trifled with. 

‘Wait, my boy,” cried the gentleman, his manner 
suddenly changing, and a genial smile breaking like a 
sunbeam over his noble countenance; ‘“ wait @ mo- 
ment. I have really taken a great liking to you, and 
must talk with you. I will be serious now, for I have 
found out what stuff you are made of. Will you ex- 
plain to me why you left Mr. Gay. Trust me, for I 
am disposed to be your friend.” 

Clinton could not withstand his friendly manner, 
and he briefly but explicitly related the circumstances 
occasioning his rupture with Mr. Gay. 

The gentleman was charmed alike by the integrity 
and modesty manifest in his simple narrative, and 
indignant because of Mr. Gay’s hasty and unjust 
conduct. Clinton begged him not to speak harshly 
of his former friend and patron. ‘Though I felt 
wronged by his passionate treatment,” said he, ‘‘ his 
previous kindnesses to me demand my gratitude and 
respect.’ 

“Well, well, my boy; glad to see you thus dis- 
posed to remember favors. But I’m going to tell 
you something that will surprise you a little, I fancy. 
Twas in the store when Mr. Sands gave you your 
orders for selling the silks; I saw your reluctance to 


126. THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


comply with -his command, and watched with great 
interest all your proceedings. I read the struggles in 
your mind, and saw your triumph over temptation. 
I knew you when you spoke to me,—should have 
known you in France! There was something about 
your face that struck me at first; and now, as your 
black eyes grow big with wonder, it seems as though 
Thad known you before. Strangely familiar those 
eyes, and that firmly-set mouth!’ continued the 
gentleman, as if talking to himself; ‘‘ who, who, does 
he remind me of ?”” — 

‘Clint Forrest! as I live! O, I’ve found you 
at last, you young scamp!”’ cried Mr. Gay, seizing 
Clinton by the shoulder with a hearty shake. ‘‘ What 
did you hide yourself for? Gritty, were you? Well, 
I can’t blame you for that, I suppose, when I’ve got 
so much of the real grit myself; but come right 
home with me before I lose you. They will all be 
glad to see you. Fannie has half cried her eyes out 
because you ran away.” 

‘Indeed, Mr. Gay, this is very unexpected,” said 
Clinton. ‘‘ Do you really wish to receive me again as 
your clerk? ”’ 

‘Wish it! I insist upon it! Didn’t I engage 
you for a year, and you ran off without giving any 
warning? But I’ll forgive that,” said Mr. Gay, 
with a good-natured laugh, ‘“‘and engage you for 
another year, dating from to-day, with this express 
stipulation, that, even if I discharge you three times 
a week, in a passion, you are to stay till I tell you, 
soberly and calmly, to go.” 

‘¢ Before I accept your conditions, sir, I must know 
whether or not you fully understand the cause of the 
trouble between Mr. Sands and myself? ”’ 

** Yes, dear Clinton,” replied Mr. Gay, dropping 
his playful tone. ‘‘ After inquiring into the affair, I 


NEW DEVELOPMENTS. Bree 4 


found that you were in the right. Sands did not 
mean I should know anything about the injured 
goods; for he was aware that it was against my prin- 
ciples to have any such underhanded work as he 
wished you to engage in. He and I have parted lots, 
and, as I now am sole proprietor, I can’t possibly get 
along without you.” 

Clinton’s face beamed with pleasure as-he tried to 
express his thanks. 

‘‘ Don’t stand here stammering,”’ laughed the kind 
old merchant; ‘‘come along, quick; I want to show 
you to Fannie.”’ 

‘Stay, sir,” cried the gentleman to whom Clinton 
had confided his grievances ; ‘‘I question your right 

to hurry this lad away so unceremoniously. We were 
conversing, and you interrupted us.’ 

He presented his card, which Mr. Gay accepted with 
an apologetic bow.  ‘ Ah, Iam happy to make your 
acquaintance. Though I never have had the pleasure of 
meeting with you before, your name is familiar to me. 
You must excuse my interruption, but I had quite 
given up finding Clinton Forrest, and was consequent- 

ly much gratified to discover him.’’ 

‘Clinton Forrest,’’ repeated the gentleman, ‘‘ that 
is an uncommon name, — Clinton Forrest! I must 

gave a half hour’s talk with him in private. My 

hotel is near; we will go there, and, after our con- 
versation, with your permission I will accompany him 
to your house.” 

‘‘ Certainly, sir, most happy to see you; shall ex- 
pect you to remain to tea. Clint,” he continued, 
moving off, ‘‘I shall confidently expect you to make 
no engagements with any persons except myself.’’ 

Clinton’s companion took him by the arm, and 
hurried him along as though he were a refractory 
child; then ushered him, without ceremony, into the 


128 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


most luxurious apartment of a fashionable hotel. 
‘Sit down, Clinton Forrest,’ he said to the bewil- 
dered boy, ,‘‘and answer all my questions without 
reserve, I beseech you. Who were you named 
after ?”’ 

‘¢ My father, sir.” 

‘¢ And what was your mother’s name, —her maiden - 
Nameen gi iy 

“T only know that it was Annie; for she died at 
my birth, and my father died a few days before.”’ 

“Annie!” ‘The questioner’s voice was choked; 
and, pale with agitation, he placed his chair close to 
Clinton’s, and took his hand in his. 

‘But don’t you know her last name ?”’ 

‘No, sir; I never could find it out, and I never 
have seen a single relative in all my life.” 

“This is all very singular,” said the gentleman, in 
a low, musing voice, while Clinton’s surprise gave 
place to vague, half-formed, yet delightful hopes, — 
“very strange. ‘Tell me all you know about your 
parents.”’ 

« ‘YT know nothing about them, except what my 
acquaintances in Oakville (my native place) have told 
me since I was old enough to feel curiosity about the 
matter. My parents went to Oakville about a year 
before I was born. ‘They were entire strangers, andg 
seemed to avoid becoming acquainted with any of 
their neighbors, so that no one in the place ever 
found out where they came from, or the names of 
any of their friends. People said they seemed devoted 
to each other, though my mother was very melancholy, 
and callers often found her crying. She was so 
reserved that some folks called her proud, and others 
said they guessed she wasn’t ‘any too good.’ But 
I know that was all tattle,’’ continued the boy, becom- 
ing warm in the defence of his mother, whom he had 


’ 


NEW DEVELOPMENTS. 129 


never known; “‘ for something in my heart tells me 
that she was good and true. My father’s death was 
a terrible blow to her. They say she never appeared 
rational after that.” 

‘‘ But she did n’t die without speaking of any of her 
friends, without telling who she was?” eagerly asked 
the attentive listener. 

‘‘Yes; though the kind lady who tock care of her 
tried to make her comprehend that she was leaving 
me, her baby, “without a protecter or friend in the 
world, she only murmured something about her 
husband being an orphan, and that her brothers 
would care for the poor baby.” 

“Were there no papers to be found, which could give 
any Clue to the whereabouts of her friends?” 

‘‘Strange as it may appear, there could be found 
no family record, or letters, except.a few on busi- 
ness, which threw no light on the mysterious subject. 
They had but very little furniture or clothing, which, 
when sold, could only pay the expenses of their sick- 
ness and funerals. I lived seven years in the alms- 
house, a neglected, wretched child; but at last God 
raised me up kind friends, who taught me self-respect, 
and gave me the means of attaining a respectable 
education. My mether were two rings, which the 
lady whe nursed her saved for me. I always carry 
them with me as precious mementos of my mether.”’ 

‘Show them to me!”’ was the eager exclamation. 

Clinton drew from his pocket a small morocco 
case, which he unclasped, and took therefrom a plain 
gold ring, and one set with hair of three shades, with 
the name ‘‘ Annie”’ engraved on the inner side. The 
gentleman seized the latter, while his face grew pallid 
with contending emotions. His eyes were fastened 
upon the ring as if in fascination. He mournfully 

9 


130 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. — 


turned it in his hand, kissed it, and placed it upon bis 
little finger. 
‘Tt was as I feared,”’ he said, in a low, tremulous 


voice. ‘QO, Annie, you died alone, without a friend 
to hear your last prayer, — our pet bird, our beauti- 
ful one! ‘ Brothers would care for your babe’? OQ, 


how gladly would they have cherished it had Provi- 
dence only permitted!” 

Tears streamed down his cheeks; his head sank 
upon the table, and his whole frame shook with con- 
vulsive sobs. ute with amazement, Clinton gazed 
upon him, while tears of compassion filled his eyes. 

‘You look wonderingly upon me,”’ said the gentle- 
man, after a momentary indulgence of his emotion. 
‘God grant that you may never shed such tears of 
sorrow. O, my boy, this rmg assures me without 
doubt that you are the son of my only and dearly- 
beloved sister! I gave it to her on her eighteenth 
birthday, with her hair, my own, and our brotheyr’s, 
woven init. I little thought then that it would ever 
come back to me with such a melancholy tale. You 
have never known a mother’s love or a father’s care; 
have never seen a relative in all your life! Poor 
boy! poor boy! Come, my nephew, lay your head 
upon my breast; let me fold my arms about you. 
I will be father and mother to you, sister and brother, 
—all that your desolate heart can ask !”’ 

With a joyful cry and a tumultuous burst of 
tears, Clinton sprang into his uncle’s outstretched 
arms. He had proved friendship fickle, and now, 
with a blissful feeling of confidence and security, he 
pillowed his head upon the breast of his new-found 
relative. 


CHAPTER XIII. 
EXPLANATIONS AND DISCOVERIES. 


A LETTER! it has a magician-like power! Beneath 
its seal lies an invisible spirit, ready to spring forth 
with art to awaken any or every emotion of which ° 
the heart is capable. A letter! now the reader’s 
eye dances with joy, and pleasure wreathes the lip 
with smiles. ~Affection’s flame burns brighter as thie 
glowing words daguerreotype themselves upon the 
tablet. of the soul. Anon, a stroke of wit calls forth 
a mirthful laugh, or a reminiscence fills the heart 
with tender memories. Perchance the tale it tells is 
of sorrow. Then tears rain on the speaking paper ; 
or the breast may heave with slighted love, and swell 
with angry resentment, as words of coldness or rebuke 
pierce their arrows in the soul. Joy, sorrow, love, 
hate, hope, fear, anger, and jealousy — each and every 
passion of the human soul is subject to the sway of 
that little, mystic thing —a letter ! | 

Methinks written words coming from the handof a 
beloved friend have greater weight than those that 
are spoken; they assume.a palpable form that brings 
conviction to the mind. We read the lines again and 
again, imagining the look and tones of the writer, 
while the subtle, invisible, still existing chain, linking 
kindred minds, though mountains, seas, and mighty 
countries intervene, is woven more closely round the 
heart. . But to our story. 

(181) 


132 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


Elmina was very lonely after the departure of her 
two dear brothers; and, as her father had accompanied 
Frank to Boston, she had no one at home to appreciate 
her feelings. During the excitement of preparation 
she did not realize how hard the parting would be to 
her affectionate nature; but when the ‘ Good-by’ was 
said, and they were really gone, she felt inexpressibly 
lonely, and yielded to what she then thought her 
inconsolable sorrow. 

Under these circumstances, the companionship of 
the cheerful, energetic Josie Lee was invaluable. By- 
her judicious conversation and advice, Klmina resumed 
her former studies and occupations; and soon the 
quiet, placid smile, so peculiar to her lovely face, 
played upon the features and sent its healing influence 
down into her heart. If inward peace produces out- 
ward cheerfulness, it is equally true that placidity, of 
manner and determined cheerfulness, even if assumed, 
will soften and make more endurable the concealed 
sorrow. cae: . 

When she received two letters, — one from her father, 
telling all the circumstances of Frank’s embarkation, 
and stating his own intention of remaining in the’ 
city several weeks, and the other from Clinton, — she 
joyously sprang up the stairs into her own room, 
where she might enjoy their perusal undisturbed. 
With all her efforts at self-control, she could not 
restrain the tears which flooded her eyes, or her 
eager impatience to receive at once the whole import 
of those welcome missives. 

‘“‘T must answer Clint’s letter directly,” she said to 
herself. ‘‘ As he is journeying about, I shall lose track 
of him unless I do.”’ She seated herself at her little 
writing-desk, drew forth a sheet, and soon her pen was 
flying nimbly over the snowy page, embodying, in fit- 
ting words, the warm outgushings of her heart. When 


EXPLANATIONS AND DISCOVERIES. 133 


she had nearly finished her pleasant task, her aunt 
Jane came in, and seated herself near the desk. With 
a bright smile, Elmina tossed the letters into her 
aunt’s lap, saying, ‘‘ I suppose you wish to hear from 
father and Clinton.” 

While Mrs. Clement read, she now and then paused 
to look upon Elmina’s animated countenance, as she 
plied her pen more assiduously than before. ‘‘ You 
are writing to your father, are you not?”’ 

“No, aunt; [am answering Clinton’s letter, and 
I want. to put it into the office to-night, for he may 
leave Philadelphia very soon. I shall write to my 
father to-morrow.”’ 

‘““Tt seems to me that you are neglecting your 
father in your haste to correspond with this young 
gentleman,” said Mrs. Clement with a disagreeable 
intonation. Elmina made no reply, but wrote the 
last line, and affixed her name at the end. ‘‘It is 
a very unusual thing, and highly improper, in my 
opinion,” continued her aunt, in the cautious manner 
which some persons assume when they have a hidden 
object to gain, ‘‘for a boy and girl of your ages to 
hold a correspondence. J am sure your father would 
not approve of it.” 

Elmina looked up with innocent surprise, exclaim- 
ing, ‘‘ Where can be the impropriety, aunt Jane? 
Clint is just like a brother to me; almost as dear as 
my own Frank!” ; 

‘‘ Of course, child, you can’t see any impropriety 
in it. Girls néver do in any of the silly and improper 
notions they get into their heads. Clint isn’t your 
brother, nor any relation at all; so your-calling him 
brother don’t alter the matter in the least.” 

Though unused to question the opinions of her 
superiors, Elmina could not blindly yield her will to 
what she felt to be unsound reasoning. She said. 


1384 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


gently,. ‘‘ Don’t you remember, aunt, that father often 
called Clint his son, and was pleased to have Frank 
and me consider him as a brother ?”’ 

‘QO, yes,’ interrupted her aunt, ‘“‘ I remember 
that he was petted and praised till he fancied himself 
equal to the best in the house; and it is none of my 
affair, of course, whether you write to him or not. I 
have given my opinion, however; so my conscience 
will be clear if you do make yourself ridiculous.” 

The young girl revolved the question in her mind ; 
there seemed but one conclusion, —that it would be ex- 
tremely unkind to neglect the affectionate epistle she 
had just received. As she folded and directed her 
letter, she said, ‘‘ Please excuse me, aunt Jane, if I 
do not take up with your advice. I cannot bear to 
grieve Clinton by silence and neglect.” ° 

She expected Mrs. Clement would be angry with 
her, and was agreeably surprised, when she rose, say- 
ing, quietly, ‘‘ Well, I dare say ’t will do no harm, 
for the boy will find new friends, and soon forget all 
the favors he has received in this house. It is late 
for you to go out, so I will take your letter and send 
James with it to the office.” 

Elmina thanked her, and, when left alone, fell to 
wondering if it were possible that Clint could ever 
forget her. She judged him by her own true heart, 
and answered the mental question with a decided, 
‘¢ No!” 

One day, when she was ill with a nervous head- 
ache, James brought Clinton’s second letter. It 
affectionately chided her for not replying to his 
_ previous epistle, and ended with an earnest petition 
for her to write immediately. The unsuspecting girl 
‘dreamed of no fraud, and, though surprised and .an- 
noyed that her letter had been miscarried, she had 
not a thought of blaming any one. She rose from 


EXPLANATIONS AND DISCOVERIES. 135 


her pillow, and wrote a few words, assuring Clinton 
of her unaltered friendship and regard, and apologized 
for her short note on account of her headache. She 
then called her cousin, and asked him to take it to 
the post-office. James, who really loved Klmina, 
willingly ‘accepted the little commission. As he 
passed his mother’s room, she called him in, and, after 
closing the door, inquired in a low voice if Elmina 
had had not given him a letter for Clinton. 

“You give it to me, James,’’ she said, after he 
had answered in the affirmative; ‘‘ give it tome; you 
need n’t carry it.”’ 

‘Why, mother, I promised Mina that I would; 
and she will think it very strange if I do not.” 

‘Leave the letter with me, and go down the 
street so that she will have no suspicions. If she 
asks you about it, tell her you gave it to the post- 
master.”’ . 

James looked at his mother inquiringly. This was 
not the first lesson in deception which she had taught 
him, but he could not understand her motive in this 
instance. 

_“T will explain my plan to you, James, or you 
will defeat my object by some blunder. I am de- 
termined to break off all communication between your 
uncle’s family and Clint Forrest. If burned Mina’s 
first letter, and, if I take care of this, I don’t think 
Clint will trouble us with any more letters; for you 
know he is sensitive and high-spirited. If we don’t 
hear from him, your uncle will feel himself neglected, 
and say the boy is ungrateful. That is just what I 
want; for the doctor thinks so much of him now, 
that like as not he will give him some of his proper- 
ty, and I think he has spent enough already on that 
_ beggar-boy. Just get him out of hearing, and you 
will have a better chance to gain the doctor’s favor. 





136 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


You see that a mother is always ready to do anything 
to advance the interests of her children, and im this 
case you will be glad to help me, for we have neither 
of us a very particular affection for Clint.’” 

As may be supposed, James made no opposition to 
the scheme of his unprincipled ‘mother, and left the 


letter with her, though he informed ee cousin, at ° 


night, that he had given it to the postmaster, and had 
no doubt it would go safely. Thus was Elmina, as 
well as Clinton, made the victim of a selfish, jealous 
woman. 

When the doctor returned from the city, one of his 
first mquiries was for his young protege. He read 
the letters his daughter had received with much pleas- 
ure, and expressed impatience to hear from_him 
again, as he wished to write to him himself. Week 
after week passed away, and they wondered, and 
made all possible and impossible conjectures as to. why 
Clinton did not. write. ‘They heard regularly from 
Frank, who wrote in fine spirits; but still the good 
doctor felt disappointed and dissatisfied, and Elmina 
extremely grieved, at the neglect of one whom they 
had treated with so much affection and consideration. 
Mrs. Clement often expatiated upon Chnton’s ap- 
parent ingratitude, and assured her brother-in-law 
that lie might always expect to be thus rewarded for 
conferring favors on those out of his own family. 

When Clinton’s letter to Josephine Lee reached its 
destination it was in vacation time, and Josie was ab- 
sent on a.journey; hence the reason of its being 


unanswered. ‘This train of circumstances severed: 


Clinton for many years from the place of his nativity 
and the friends of his childhood. 


About a year after the incidents above recorded, 
Elmina discovered, by mere accident, the cause of the 


OT 


EXPLANATIONS AND DISCOVERIES. 13T 


before inexplicable silence of Clinton. One day, in 
altering the arrangement of her drawers, Mrs. Clem- 
ent threw a quantity of old papers upon the carpet, 
and desired Elmina to take them away. She gath- 
ered them up in her apron, but let them suddenly 
drop with an exclamation of surprise, as she caught 
sight of a sealed letter. Mrs. Clement endeavored to 
snatch it away, with a look of apprehension; but El- 
mina held it firmly. It was directed to ‘Clinton For- 
rest, Baltimore.”’ For a moment the young girl was 
motionless with®surprise, and then unsealed the letter. 
There could be no mistake; it was the second letter 
that she wrote to her dear, wandering brother. 

“What is it, child, that strikes you so?” said 
Mrs. Clement, with feigned composure. 

“Why, ’tis one of the letters I wrote to Clint; 
how could it possibly get there?” 

The miserable woman tried to laugh it of. “ It is 
rather strange, but probably it got into my drawer by 
accident.” 


“By accident!’ A shameful suspicion rose in 
Elmina’s mind, and she spoke with unusual vehe- 
mence. “Aunt J ane, how could this letter get into 


your drawer by accident, when James agsured mo 
that he delivered it safe to the postmaster? I can’t 
understand it.”’ 

‘‘T hope’you don’t accuse me of knowing anything 
about it.’’ 

‘‘T don’t accuse any one, aunt; but I must have 
an explanation, for I know it could n . all happen by 
accident.”’ 

‘‘ Must have an explanation !”’ cried Mrs. Clement, 
losing all self-control: ‘‘ You demand it, do you? 
Well, then, listen, and much good may it do you. I 
took that letter away from James, and threw it inte 


138 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


my drawer. I was a fool for not burning it, and then 
it would never have been discovered.” 

Elmina: stood transfixed with astonishment. 

‘‘Don’t look at me in that way, child! Isay I 
wish I had burned this, as I did the other! You 
little thought I could punish you so handsomely for 
scorning my advice.” 

She clasped her«hands upon her heaving breast. 
Anger, scorn, withering contempt, gleamed from those . 
eyes, usually emitting so tender a light. She could 
not speak, but her look was more *€xpressive than 
words, even than the strongest words of passion and 
reproach. | 

Her aunt was almost beside herself. ‘‘ Elmina 
Clement,’’ she screamed, ‘I know now that all your 
pretended sweetness and gentleness is mere sham, for 
you look like a perfect fury! Are you speechless ! 
if so, leave my presence, for I will not be looked 
through and through by such a. minx.” 

Without a word, and with the bearing of a princess, 
Elmina left the chamber and entered her own apart- 
ment. Here the unnatural tension of the nerves 
gave way; her lip quivered, and her heart heaved 
wildly. Resentment gave place to-grief, and she 
wept bitterly. ‘‘O, dear Clint,” she murmured, 
‘‘ how neglectful, how unkind, you must think me! 
Poor, poor boy, while [ was blaming you unjustly, 
you were wondering and grieving that Mina could 
treat you so ill.” 

Soon her tears ceased to flow, and she thought of 
her aunt’s wicked conduct, which, to her pure, truth- 
ful mind, assumed the darkest hue. She had tried to 
love her; she had daily prayed for meekness and 
patience; but now her heart swelled with a bitterness 
that had ever before been ‘a stranger to her gentle 
breast. The angel in her heart, called conscience, 


EXPLANATIONS AND DISCOVERIES. 139 


whispered words of admonition. She fell upon her 
knees by the bedside, and prayed for the spirit of 
love and forgiveness. With tears and sobs, she called 
upon her sainted mother {o help and bless her. Her 
prayer seemed answered, for the quick sobs gradually 
subsided, and, at last, she arose from her knees, with 
a face calm as the summersky. A gentle tranquillity 
sat upon her brow, and softened to indescribable sweet- 
ness the expression of sorrow around her mouth. 
She opened her Bible, her mother’s Bible, and read. 
The holy words were, truly, to her wounded spirits, 
like ‘‘apples of gold in pictures of silver.’’ 

The door was opened, and the kind-hearted Ann 
stepped in. Elmina turned her transparent face 
towards her, and smiled a welcome. ‘‘ Bless me! ”’ 
exclaimed the girl, with a look of affectionate admi- 
ration, ‘‘ how like an angel you do look! Any way, 
you look like the only angel I ever saw, your mother. 
She was always an. angel—dear, sweet lady! I 
did n’t expect to find you sitting here so ctlmly, con- 
sidering with what an ‘air’ you came in, an hour 
ago.” 

a It would be very dreadful for me to feel as I did 
then, for a whole hour,” said Elmina. 

“‘T don’t think so,” replied Ann; “when I am 
abused, it does me good to rave about it. O, Mina, 
if you only knew how I hate that woman! I never . 
have called her Mrs. Clement, and never will. I’ve 
called your dear, blessed mother so too many times 
to give the name to such a disgraceful woman. I 
was dusting the shelves in the closet, and heard what 
she said, and I saw you, Mina. O, I wish you 
could have seen how handsome you looked, with your 
eyes flashing so, and your face so full of scorn! You 
would n’t have known yourself, though, but I love 


140 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


you better for it; it shows that you have too much 
spirit to be always trampled under foot.” 

‘‘ Don’t try to make me better pleased with myself, 
because I was so very angry,’’ said Elmina, seriously. 
‘‘ Of course, no one could help feeling indignant at 
such wicked conduct; but I was wrong to get into 
such a passion.” 

‘No, no, I shan’t let you blame yourself, when 
you have borne so much and so long with such sweet- 
ness and patience. I have wondered how you could 
do it, many a time.” 

i Ah, Anii, you forget how often I am irritated by: 
aunt’s trying ways. Sometimes I despair of ever 
doing as my mother would have me. I can’t a i 
be patient. i 

The kind-hearted but undisciplined girl looked at 
Elmina as if she loved and admired her, but could 
not quite understand her. ‘‘ Well, my dear,” she 
said, ‘‘ I guess good will come out of this trouble, for 
your father will be terrible angry. I don’t think he 
will let your aunt Jane, as you call her (1’d never 
call her aunt, though), stay another day under his 
roof.” 

Elmina’s countenance changed. ‘I have not 
thought of ghat. Papa is most always ready to ex- 
cuse people’s faults; but anything like this which 
aunt has done I know he would not overlook.” 

~“T am so glad!” cried Ann. ‘‘ She will surely 
have to go away. O, I will keep the house just like 
a new pin, and you will make such a darling little 
mistress ! ’’ 

“T am afraid I ought not to tell my father,” 
Elmina said, thoughtfully. ‘‘It would be such a dis- 
grace to aunt, to be turned out of the house; and 
then, you know, she ’d have to work very hard to earn 


EXPLANATIONS AND DISCOVERIES. 141 


her own living. We must try and bear with her 
longer.”’ 

‘‘T don’t care if she does have to earn her own 
living. I should be glad if she was obliged to go out 
washing ! ”’ 

‘Now, Ann, don’t talk so,”’ said, Elmina, persua- 
sively. “I must think about it; and don’t, I beg of 
you, tell the affair to any one, at present. Please go 
away now, and, if you love me, you will be silent on 
the subject.” 

‘Tf I love you? You know I do, Elmina,” said 
Ann, kissing the fair, upturned brow; ‘‘so I will 
go about my work, and hold my peace.” 

When Mrs. Clement’s passion had a little subsided, 
she became alarmed for the consequences of her un- 
guarded confession. She was fully aware that the 
doctor would not tolerate her longer in his family, 
when informed of the unworthy part she had played. 
She concluded to unbend her haughty temper, and 
conciliate her injured niece, if possible, so that she 
might retain her pleasant and easy home. With a 
face wreathed in counterfeit smiles, and her voice 
tuned to its softest cadence, she sought Elmina, who 
had already generously determined to ao her from 
the anger of the doctor. ; 

sak “hope you will excuse my harsh words, dear 
Elmina, for you know that I am naturally hasty.” 

Elmina bowed her reply. There *was neither 
haughtiness nor anger in her manner, but a reserved 
dignity, as though the two had suddenly changed 
places, and the conscious superiority of virtue had 
made an impassable gulf between them. 

Mrs. Clement was secretly irritated, still she spoke 
in the same bland tone. ‘‘It was regard for you, 
child, that induced me to destroy your letters. I 
thought it was improper for you to hold a correspond- 


142 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


ence with one of the other sex; and, if I mistook - 

my duty, I hope you will believe that my motive was 
BOM e 

att I believe that I fully appreciate your motive.’ 

Mrs. Clement looked puzzled. She was entirely 
unprepared for such a dignified reception, and these 
words of irony made her sit very uncomfortably. 
She suddenly changed her tactics, and appealed to 
the compassion of her young companion. 

‘¢ Klmina, I am a poor widow, without a friend to 
help me, except your father, and, if he should set me 
adrift on thé world, I know not what would -become 
of me. If you should tell him your story, I fear he 
will be very angry with me.” 

‘‘We would be, undoubtedly. I don’t think he 
would retain you in the family a day longer.” 

‘¢Then you will tell him?” cried Mrs. Clement, 
resorting to her handkerchief. ‘‘O, dear! how can 
you be so cruel? What will become of me and my 
poor, fatherless boy? O, that I had never come here, 
to be sent away in disgrace, and to starve !”’ 

Elmina could not help smiling at the tragic air of 
her aunt. ‘‘ You distress yourself unnecessarily,” 
she said; ‘‘I had resolved, before you came in, not 
to tell my father anything about it, unless it became 
my duty to do so in Clinton’s defence, and thus save 
your wicked conduct from exposure.” 

She winced at this bold speech, but the promise it 
contained made it endurable. ‘‘Then you promise 
not to tell him,” she said, eagerly. ‘‘ You will keep 
your word? ”’ 

‘‘T give you my word,” said Elmina, in a meaning 
tone, ‘‘and you can trust me.” 

Elmina rose, as though she wished to put an end 
to the interview. Her aunt looked upon her with in- 
voluntary respect. ‘hough her form was girlish, it 


EXPLANATIONS AND DISCOVERIES. 1438 


enshrined a woman’s heart and mind. Mrs. Clement 
felt this, and never addressed her as ‘ child’’ again. 
Completely awed and humbled in the presence of her 
whom she had tried to govern and bend to her own 
will, she hurried away, thanking her stars that, for a 
time, at least, she was to be saved from enduring the 
just penalty of her sin. 


CHAPTER XIV. 
SORROW. — NEW PLANS. 


YEARS have come and gone, bringing sad changes 
to our friends in Oakville. Dr. Clement’s mansion 
wears a lonely aspect. The blinds are closed; the 
garden walks unswept, and the luxuriant vines un- 
trained. No footstep echoes through the deserted 
rooms, no voices break the strange stillness there. 
He who was once owner of the place, has pass 
over the threshold, never to return, and his sorrowing 
children have left their desolate home for a season. 

But three months ago Dr. Clement bade his daugh- 
ter an affectionate adieu, as he left home for Charles- 
ton, on business. Ah, little thought they it was the 
last farewell! The steamer in which he sailed was 
burned, and Dr. Clement was among the lost. 

Frank Clement, who was at that time in Boston 
practising medicine with a distinguished physician, 
immediately went to Elmina, to weep with her, and 
comfort her with brotherly love. 

Dr. Clement was loved and esteemed by all about 
him, and the intelligence of his sudden death sent a 
thrill of grief and horror through the community. 
The most respectful and delicate attentions were show- 
ered upon the bereaved son and daughter, and often 
repeated was the kindly inquiry, ‘‘ Can I do anything 
for you?’’ Alas, there was nothing to be done! 


This fact added weight to their anguish. They could — 


(144) 


Se 


digg 
‘e 


SORROW — NEW PLANS. _ 145 


not look upon the still form of their departed father ; 
they could not lay his loved remains beside the sacred 
dust of their’ mother; no flowers could they plant 
above his resting-place, for he slept beneath the ocean 
wave ! 

- They walked about the grounds which his taste had 
beautified ; they gazed upon the trees he had planted, 
upon the pretty arbors and trellises his hands had 
made; and felt, with breaking hearts, that his loved 

. presence never more would make glad the spot. 

Mrs. James Clement had continued to be a member 
of the family, and her son, though always talking of 
choosing a profession, still idled away his time, freely 
spending the money of his indulgent uncle. Now 
the scene was changed. Mrs. Clement was really 
shocked at the death of her brother-in-law, and, for a 

few. days, appeared inconsolable. But when she 
learned that he had left his property in a bad state, 
and that, when all debts were settled, only the house 
and adjoining grounds would remain to the heirs, she 
speedily laid aside her grief and accepted proposals 
of marriage from a rich old miser. Mr. Wells was a 
selfish, ignordnt old man, who had spent his life in 
hoarding wealth ; and only for his golden charms did 
Mrs. Clement marry him. 

A few weeks before Frank returned to his profes- 
sional duties in Boston, Elmina declared her intention 
of teaching school. Frank strongly objected to such 
a plan, saying that he should esteem it a privilege to 
provide for all her wants. 

“But you are young,” persisted Elmina, ‘‘and 
probably can earn only enough for yourself, for sev- 
eral years to come. I am determined to do some- 
thing for my own support, and I think I should like 
teaching very much.” 

‘* Indeed, tice I shall not consent to any such 


) 


* 


146 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


. 


thing,” said Frank, ‘“‘ while I have health my dear 
and only sister shall not wear out her life in teaching 
school. It is harder work than you think for, and 
you are not very strong.”’ 

‘You make me out a useless thing, Frank. Now 
let me reason with you.” 

‘“Nay, Mina, let me reason with you,” said Frank, 
drawing a letter from his pocket. ‘“‘ Here is a letter 
from aunt Lucy Lincoln, which may influence you a 
little.”’ 

Elmina read the affectionate epistle of her aunt 
with glistening eyes. Mrs. Lincoln was the half- 
sister of Dr. Clement, and twenty years his junior. 
She had not visited Oakville since she was a young 


girl, and consequently was a stranger to her brother's: 


family. She expressed the kindest sympathy for the 
grief of her nephew and niece, and spoke with regret 
of the very limited intercourse which had existed 
between her deceased brother and herself. She 


begged Elmina to come to her, and make her house — 


her home. She needed ‘‘a companion, a younger 
sister ;’’ and her husband joimed in her earnest re- 
quest. There was sincerity breathing through the 
whole of the epistle, and the brother and sister felt 
that every word was from the heart. 

‘‘T know I shall love aunt Lucy,” said Elmina, 
smiling through her tears; ‘I know P’shall love her. 
She seems to possess as kindly a heart as did our 
father.”’ 

‘'Yes,’’ said Frank. ‘TJ like her very much, as 
she appears in her letter. There is a girlish simplicity 
about it that makes me think her heart is fresh and 


) 


true; though I suppose her husband is very wealthy, 
and she a fashionable lady. Then how kind her 


Invitation for you to come and be her ‘ companion and 
younger sister’! ”’ 


SORROW. — NEW PLANS. 147 


‘But I cannot accept of the invitation unless she 
permits me to teach her children, or do something 
which will take away all feelings of dependence.” 

“That’s right, Elmina; I am glad you are so 
independent. I should like to have you teach our 
little cousins ; for I have ‘no fear that you would be 
called upon to exert yourself beyond your strength 
in the house of our father’s gister. You had better 
write to her now, telling her that you will visit her, 


at least, and express the conditions upon which you, 


will become a member of her family.” 

An extract from Mrs. Lincoln’s reply will show 
how Hlmina’s communication was received by her 
New York friends. 

“Though I am sorry that you will not accept 
our ‘hospitality,’ as you term it, without the con- 
ditions you mention, still 1 love you for the inde- 
pendent spirit you manifest. George (he is my 
husband) was delighted with your letter, and says 
that, if you wish to teach our children, he should 
entrust them to you with perfect confidence. Helen 
and Grace say: ‘Do let our cousin teach us, for 
we are tired of cross old governesses.’ Grace 
and Bertie, my little twins, have picked out the 
pleasantest apartment in the house for cousin El- 
mina. Don’t lament the loss of your fortune, for 
we have enough for ourselves and eae too.”’ 


Elmina was now nineteen years of age, and the 
promise of her childhood was more than fulfilled. In 
her character was united the cheerful energy of her 
father with the sweet Christian temper which had 
made her mother’s life so beautiful. Though death 
had long divided them, the influence of the mother 
over her child had beer wonderful, for Elmina had 
_never forgotten her precepts or example. 








hare 








THE HARVEST « OF LOVE. 


7, 








0, who he express the worth of a true ‘Chats 7 
mother ? ? Living or dying, her influence is most 
precious. She rears her monument in the characters _ 
of her sons and daughters, and her memorial is written 
on the tablets of loving hearts ! 











CHAPTER XV. 


NEW FRIENDS AND A NEW HOME. 


BEFORE leaving Oakville, Elmina promised Dora 
May that she would write her long letters, in the 
form of a diary, in order to lessen the loneliness of 
separation. The first of these letters continue our 
story so naturally, that we copy from them, prefer- 
ring their conversational style to the common mode 
of story-telling. 


‘*New Yorx, Sept. 5, 18—. ~ 


‘My pEAREST Dora: Though scarcely rested 
from the fatigue of my journey, I cannot let another 
night pass over my head without writing to you. 
With Frank for my escort, you will readily believe 
me when I tell you that I had a very pleasant jour- 
ney, which was happily free from all disaster. 

‘We found uncle George Lincoln at the landing 
with his carriage. He received us with cordiality ; 
and, while we were waiting for the crowd to disperse, 
I had leisure to study his personal appearance. ‘The 
survey was very gratifying to me, and I felt acquainted 
with him from the moment he took my hand in his. 
His features are quite regular and pleasing, and it is 
only his projecting brows and deep-set eyes that save 
him from the charge of effeminacy. His abundant 
brown hair looked as if he were too busy to spend 
much time upon its cultivation, and his dress, though 
fine in texture, was somewhat negligent ; he his 
ae (149) 


i, 
tit 


150 THE HARVEST OF LOYE. 


bearing was so easy and courteous that I insiingtively 
pronounced him a true gentleman. 

“The carriage drew. up before a lordly mansion, 
and uncle ushered us in without ceremony. The 
drawing-room was vacant, but he requested us to be 
seated, and sent a servant-girl in search of her 
mistress. 

‘‘Scarce three minutes had elapsed when aunt 
Lucy came tripping down stairs with an eagerness 
that was almost childish, but very charming in her. 
She shook hands with Frank, and then flew to me, 
and embraced me most affectionately. She called a 
servant to remove my bonnet and cape, and then 
insisted upon doing everything for me herself. All 
this time she chatted to me with great vivacity, and 
in the sweetest voice in the world. She had a white 
muslin wrapper; her shining hair had been hastily 
drawn into a knot and fastened with a gold pin, 
while half a dozen stray tresses danced like threaded 
sunlight over her shoulders; and, when she stepped 
‘away “from me, I perceived that one foot was encased 
in a congress boot, and the other in a white slipper. 

rier hnghind looked upon her with a tender, 
but roguish, smile, and playfully remarked upon the 
strangeness of her attire. She blushed slightly as she 
looked down upon her ah, and passed one hand over 
her hair, saying, ‘Ah! you must excuse me; I 
really didn’t expect you for an hour yet, and I had 
such a delightful story that I delayed dressing too 
long. Maggie had just taken down my hair when 
-you sent for me, and of course I couldn’t keep the 
dear children of my brother waiting while I com- 
pleted my toilet; so I twisted up my hair, slipped 


on the first shoes I could find, and hastened to. 


welcome them.’ I expressed my pleasure in her 
unaffected cordiality. She smiled, and, glancing 


£ 


for cen) 
iy sees 

Bee 

~ Aas ‘We 


NEW FRIENDS AND A NEW HOME. 151 


bewitchingly backward to her husband, excused her- 
self, and glided away. 

“f Ah!? thought I, ‘here is a “‘child-wife’” in 
real life,’ as charmmg as Dickens’ Dora, though with 
more character, and not a bit more lovely than the 
dear Dora to whom I'am writing. 

“Am I too exuberant, too minute in my descrip- 
tion? I hope I do not weary you; for I wish you 
to become acquainted with my relatives here, as fast 
as I do, by my pen-and-ink introduction. I was then 
shown into my apartment by a neat little maid, where 
I exchanged my travel-soiled garments for those more 
suitable to the parlor. 

‘¢ After I had finished my toilet I returned to the 
drawing-room. Aunt Lucy was there before me, 
dressed with such elegance and taste as assured me 
that she was far from being indifferent to the adorn- 
ments of dress. Uncle Lincoln and Frank were 
engaged in a pleasant conversation, and aunt Lucy 
half-reclined upon a sofa. There was an air of 
languor in her attitude, which I fancied was the re- 
action of her former enthusiasm.. She pointed to a vo- 
luptuously-cushioned chair, apologizing for not rising, 
_as she was ‘so very weary.’ ‘Then she began to tell 
me how happy she was because I had come, and how 
much she knew she should love me. Her manners 
were so ingenuous that I could not accuse her of 
flattery; so I responded warmly. If she remembered 
rightly, I resembled my father very much, though 
my hai and eyes were darker. And when she saw 
the tears that would come at the mention of that dear 
name, she looked half-shocked, and tried to turn my 
thoughts to other subjects, with such earnestness that, 
for her sake, I resolutely banished every trace of 
emotion. She seemed relieved when I smiled again, 


152 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


and rung the bell, saying she would send for her 
children, and present them to me. 

‘‘My three little cousins embraced me with every 
demonstration of pleasure. Helen is. seven, and 
Grace and Herbert, the twins, are five years old. O, 
Dora, I have seen beautiful children, but never before 
such perfect gems of childish loveliness! Grace and 
Bertie are exceedingly small, and dazzlingly fair. 
Their features are so much alike, so exact in their re- 
semblance, that, were they of the same sex, and 
dressed alike, I think it would be impossible to distin- 
guish one from the other. Hair like their mother’s, 
only more golden, softer and more glossy, ripples in 
shining curls over their snowy, dimpled shoulders. 
Every feature is chiselled after the purest model, and 
their eyes are as clear and blue as a June sky. 
Even now, dear Dora, till you have seen them, you 
can have no idea of the cherubic loveliness of these 
little ones. / 

‘‘T turned from the children to their girlish-looking 
mamma (who has counted only twenty-five years), 
and half repented that I had called her a ‘child-wife ;’ 
but, an hour afterwards, I involuntarily pronounced 
her a ‘child-mother.’ She yielded herself to. their 
simplest wish, and joined their play with such per- 
fect abandon, that she seemed a very child among 
‘them. Though each character was so becoming to’ 
her, and she appeared as happy as a bird, my heart 
feared for her something which even my. own thoughts 
could not define. 

‘‘ At dinner I was introduced to the other mem- 
bers of the family, Mr. Ike Lincoln, brother to aunt 
Lucy’s husband, and Lauretta Fay, the gentleman’s 
ward. Mr. Ike Lincoln is a very benevolent-looking, 
portly bachelor of thirty-eight. He studied my face 
all dinner-time; at last I grew nervous under his 


© 


NEW FRIENDS AND A NEW HOME. £83 


sharp glances (he has the keenest eyes I ever saw); 
and, when he perceived it, he devoted himself to his 
dessert, but with a peculiar smile upon his lips, which 
[ tried in vain to read. 

‘‘Miss Fay is handsome, and haughty, and cold. 
I have hardly heard her speak yet. She seems to 
look down upen my humble self as though I were 


unworthy of her notice; still I may hike her much 


- 


upon acquaintance. 


* Sept. 8.—I1 begin to feel quite at home now, 
and think I shall be happy here. I wanted to com- 
mence teaching my little cousins at once, but aunt 
Lucy declared I should net while brother Frank 
remains with us, which is to be but a few days. 

“T like Mr. Ike Lincoln extremely well; he is 
rather eccentric in hig ways; some people would call 
it originality. I have almost forgotten the piercing 
glances which so disconcerted me when I first met 
him, for his eyes now beam with a friendly light. 
Aunt Lucy says it is his peculiarity to look through 
everybody until he ig satisfied in regard to’ their 
character. He is a physiognomist, and says that 
never, upon acquaintance with any one person, has he 
had reason to change the first estimate he made of 
his or he® character. Aunt Lucy laughingly tells 
him that this is the very reason why he never has 
been married, and why, she fears, he never will be; 
for, if he can discover every defect of character at 
first sight, he will be in little danger of losing his 
heart.. For my own part, I might be embarrassed in. 
the presence of such a skilful reader of human 
hearts, were it not for his genial manners, which 
throw a perfect charm around him. 

‘He wishes me to call him ‘uncle Ike,’ as the 
children do. I was much amused at the idea of 


* 


154 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


calling so young a man, who could not claim the title, 
‘uncle;’ but he insists upon it so earnestly, that I 
am forced to yield. In fact, he is ‘uncle Ike’ to the 
whole family; aunt Lucy and Lauretta both call him 
so, therefore I shall be in the fashion. 

‘‘To-night there are several visitors in the draw- 
ing-room. I grew weary of being among strangers, 
and have stolen away to my own chamber to write to 
thee, my dear Dora. There is a gentle knocking at 
my door; it is my little cousins asking for admittance ; 
so I must lay down my pen and chat a while with 
them. 

‘‘They have gone, the dear little ones, and I re- 
sume my talk with you. They begin to call me 
‘dear cousin Mina,’ and I love them dearly, though 
T’ve not known them a week. 

‘‘ Helen said, to-night, ‘I am glad you have come to 
be our dear cousin and teacher, for I don’t think we 
shall be lonesome any more.’ 

‘‘ T expressed my surprise that children, in such a 
beautiful home, with so many books and costly play- 
things, should complain of being lonesome. ‘I am 
often lonesome, though,’ persisted Helen, ‘for, since 
“our governess went away, I have only my music les- 
sons to attend to. Mamma has company every day, 
and visits somuch, that she hasn’t much tgne to talk 
or play with us; but we have a nice frolic now and 
then with her, and sometimes uncle Ike takes us out 
to ride.’ 

‘‘* But you know we don’t go out often, Nellie,’ 
said little Grace, ‘and then it seems as though the | 
long days never would let night come; and Maggie is 
cross, and Lauretta don’t love to have children around 
her. 1am glad you are not such a great lady, cousin 
Mina.’ (Here the little one showered kisses on my 
forehead, lips and cheeks.) ‘O, I do love you so 


NEW FRIENDS AND A NEW HOME. 155 


much! I shan’t ever call you governess; for goy- 
ernesses are cross sometimes, and I know you never 
will be. I shall call you ‘‘ cousin Mina;” and O, 
we’ve got a “cousin Ned,” too! Did you ever see 
him ?’ 

‘‘ How the little girls pitied me because I did n’t 
- know ‘cousin Ned’! Cousin Ned was so handsome, 
and so good, and funny, too! When he jas at home 
they never thought of being lonesome, he told such 
droll stories, and frolicked with them, and made them 
lots of presents. Q, they wished he had stayed 
with them, instead of going off to Hurope! 

‘ Bertie raised his ringleted head from my lap, 
where it had lain quietly during his sister’s rhapsodies 
upon cousin Ned, saying, ‘ You have n’t told the best 
thing he does; he tries to make us good, and teaches 
us little songs about Jesus and the shepherds. Every 
story he tells isn’t funny. Don’t you remember, 
Grace, that one about little Moses in the basket, and 
how his mother hid him in the rushes close to the 
river? I like such stories best.’ 

‘“¢¢But, you have n’t told me who cousin Ned is?’ 
said I. 

‘“*Q, I forgot that!’ cried Helen, laughing ; ‘ why, 
' he is papa’s and uncle Ike’s nephew, and this is hig 

home, only she has been gone to Hurope ever so long.’ 

‘¢¢ Uncle Ike calls him his boy,’ said Grace; ‘ but 
he an’t a boy — he is a tall man, and uncle says he 
is his ‘‘sole heir.’ What does “sole heir’ mean, 
cousin Mina?’ 

‘‘' When I explained it to her, she laughed glee- 
fully. ‘O, Iam glad, for then I shall have a cun- 
ning little pony! Ned said he would get me one 
when he had money enough. How rich he will be! 
Don’t you know Uncle Ike is dreadful rich, even 
richer than papa, and papa has got plenty of money ?’ 


156 . THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


‘¢¢ Are there any flowers about your home in the 
‘country?’ asked Bertie. 

“CQO, yes, a great many.’ 

‘¢¢ How I should love to live there!’ cried the 
little fellow, a glow of delight overspreading his beau- 
tiful features. ‘ We all went to the country in July, 
and Gracie and I picked our hats full of the pretty 
flowers every day.’ 

‘“¢< You are a beautiful flower, yourself,’ I thought, 
as I kissed his blue-veined forehead. Their nurse 
called them to go to bed, and they went away, saying, 
‘good-night, good-night.’ 

‘Dear Dora, I have learned to-night that these 
lovely children, though possessing affectionate and 


amiable parents, and surrounded by every luxury 


wealth can command, are hungry for that food which 
nourisheth the soul. Every intellectual and physical 
want is supplied, but chance is suffered to mould 
their infant spirits. How unlike my own richly- 
blessed childhood! That sainted mother, whose 
memory is ever vernal in my heart, knew and under- 


stood every want, every impulseeof my childish soul. . 


While she lived, my spirit seemed to grow into hers, 
so complete and beautiful was her influence over me. 
Even now I feel her presence near me, prompting me 
to teach these little ones those things which will germ- 
inate heavenly plants in the garden of the heart. 
May her spirit guide me, that I may do my duty 
well! * 


‘Sept. 12. — All of aunt Lucy’s children are 
much petted and beloved, but little Bertie is the ido} 


of the mansion. He is never chided, whatever he © 


may do, or wherever he may go. There is a charm 
about the child ; his voice and smile seem to throw a 
spell round every heart. 1 fecl it already myself. 


é 


aed 


NEW FRIENDS AND A NEW HOME... 157 


Though I love Helen and Grace dearly, I have un- 
consciously given Bertie the largest share of my 
heart. 

‘¢ At first, I fancied that Grace and Bertie were as 
much alike, in character and disposition, as they are 
in form and feature; but I find it is not so. Grace is 
like her mother, affectionate, impulsive, volatile. Over 
Bertie’s face, and beaming from his eyes, there is a 
spiritual light, never reflected from the countenance 
of his gay little sister. He is a dreamy, earnest, 
thoughtful child. Iam often startled by his quaint 
, conceits, or by the holy expression of his face when 
he sits quietly thinking. There is a heavenly pres- 
ence about him; sometimes I think the angels are 
communing with him. 

‘ He is passionately fond of flowers, and often his 
papa buys a choice bouquet for his darling. «It is 
really affecting to see the joyful tenderness with 
which he will examine the little floral gems. I must 
tell him their names; and those which he has seen 
growing, he regards with peculiar pleasure. The 
vases in aunt Lucy’s chamber are always filled with 
Bertie’s flowers. He often trims my hair with them, 
_ or twines them among his own fair curls. 

. ‘* Bertie loves everybody, but Grace better than 
all others. She seems to be the sunbeam, the joy of 
his life; and the buoyant Grace regards her more del- 
icate brother with a strange mixture of tengerness 
_and admiration. She will lead him about with a 
patronizing air, and, when he is weary, lay his head 
in her lap and sing to him, until the canary joins in a 
wild chorus. 

‘Uncle Ike will take him into the library, and 
spend hours in turning over books of plates, and 
listen with delight to his unanswerable questions. 
The servants almost worship him; and was there one 


158 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


particle less of the angelic in his composition, they 
would spoil him with indulgence. Even Lauretta’s 
haughty. smile is softened when he is by, and her 
tones, in addressing him, are love-tones. 

‘“‘ Dora, do you think my description of little Bertie 
is too glowing to be actually true? Believe me, my 
sweet friend, I have written with the pen of truth, 
not imagination. Bertie is an angel ‘strayed from 
Paradise,’ and I fear that earth cannot keep him long. 

‘‘T hope you are not tired of my juvenile stories, 
for I must tell you one more. Last night the chil- 
dren called me into the nursery, where they were un- 
dressing, and begged* me to tell them .a story while 
they went to sleep. ‘ Please come in, cousin Mina,’ 
pleaded Bertie, ‘and hear us say our prayers. Mag- 
gie is in such a hurry, we have to say them by our- 
selves, only when mamma has time to come to us.’ 

‘“‘ T could not resist their entreaties; so I dismissed 
Maggie, and put the snowy night-dresses on their 
fairy forms, and tied over each little head a tiny ruf- 
fled cap. ‘Then I sat down, and the darlings knelt 
around me. A sweet solemnity rested down upon 
my heart. I fancied the air vibrated with the rush 
of angels’ pinions. Think you not itwas so? For, if 
celestial guardians ever attend children, as I believe 
they do, might not a bright band encircle them when 
they knelt to pray? I felt they were there, holy and 
glorious, but scarcely more pure than the sinless ones 
bowed at their evening orisons. : 

‘¢ Hirst, Helen repeated her prayer, slowly and rev- 
erently, with her head bowed, and her hands folded 
meekly upon her breast. | 

‘ Bertie commenced, ‘Our Father,’ with his head 
thrown back, and his clasped hands upraised. A rapt 
smile played round his mouth, and his eyes seemed to 
pierce the veil hiding heavenly things from our mor- 


NEW FRIENDS AND A NEW HOME. 159 


tal gaze. His tones were exultant, as though his soul 
rose upward on the holy words. A little child, pray- 
ing thus! My heart stood still with awe. I feared, 
in that ecstatic trance, his spirit, too beautiful, too 
strong for his fragile body, would soar heavenward, and 
leave untenanted the lovely clay. When the ‘amen’ 
was breathed, his head dropped slowly till it rested 
in my lap, as if the strugglings of his spirit had ex- 
hausted his tender frame. 

‘hen Grace lisped her prayer in sweet accents, 
with a roguish gleam in her blue eyes, which were 
upturned to mine. With the last word upon her lips, 
she sprang forward, and threw her arms about my neck, 
telling me, ’mid a shower of kisses, ‘how very much ° 
she loved me’! © ~—# 

‘‘ After they were in bed, I told stories to the coax- 
ing girls until slumber kissed their white eyelids. 
Bertie had lain quietly in his crib, but, when I rose 
to go, he spoke out, suddenly, ‘ Cousin Mina, if I 
should die, should I be an angel?’ 

‘“‘<T sincerely believe you would, darling.” I put 
my hand on his forehead. i{t was feverish to my 
touch, and his eyes burned with a strange, unnatural 
lustre. How I wished in my heart that he would 
say something simple and childish, and then drop off 
to sleep, as his sisters had done ! 

‘Mina, do flowers grow in heaven, and does God 
let his little angels pick them ?’ 

‘¢<T never have seen heaven, Bertie, but I think 
there must be flowers there.’ 

‘¢¢ Yes, [ know there are!’ cried. Bertie, half 
raising himself from his pillow; ‘ brighter and sweeter 
than these we have here. When I am an angel, I 
mean always to wear a crown of flowers! Won’ é that 
be beautiful ?’ 

“¢ Very beautiful, Se ilbod. my love; but why don’t 


y) 


gate i phat 
, Beat 
+ ee f 





169 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


you go to sleep? Helen and Grace,are far in dream- 
land now.’ 

‘“¢T am going to sleep now; good-night. Perhaps 
T shall drearh I am an angel.’ 

‘‘T watched him until the golden lashes rested mo- 
tionless upon his cheeks, and he slept sweetly. As 
I turned to leave the room, aunt Lucy stepped in. 
She looked gratified to seeme there. ‘I always come - 
to look upon my darlings before I sleep,’ she said ; 
‘but not often until after their eyes are shut fast.’ 

‘“T told her of the evening prayers, and of Bertie’s 
earnest questioning. She bent over her sleeping 
child, with glistening eyes. 3 

‘‘ ¢ Bertie is’a strange child; so unlike his sisters! 
He asks the oddest questions, sometimes, about things 
I never thought of! He is so beautiful —so good! 
I fear I cannot always keep him with me. Elmina, 
I fancy I read reproach in your eyes. You think I 
am too thoughtless and giddy for a mother.’ 

‘““¢] reproach you, aunt Lucy!’ I exclaimed. 
‘ What possible reason have I to do so?’ 

‘She looked at me seriously; and such a look 
was so unusual on her face, that I -felt it the more 
deeply. 

‘“¢ Elmina, I don’t know why it is that ever since 
I have known you, I have felt dissatisfied with my- 
self. There is something in your ways, though I 
know you never meant it so, my dear, that keeps tell- 
ing me [ am wasting precious time in useless, trifling 
pursuits.’ | ee 

‘There was such sweet simplicity in her manner, 
that I felt privileged to speak with the freedom that I 
would to a young companion. I told her of the holy 
trust God had committed to her, in the guidance of — 
her children, and how delightfully she might spend a 
share of her time in teaching and amusing them. 


NEW FRIENDS AND A NEW HOME. 161 


‘She listened earnestly, and then said, with a half 
sigh, ‘ You are very right, I have no doubt; but you 
know my position in society makes it impossible for 
me to devote much time to my children, for there’ is 
such a continual round of visiting and company, and 
IT never could have any system about my affairs. 
Though you are so young, you know better how to 
manage children than I do, and I entrust them to you 
with perfect confidence.’ 

‘TY thanked her for her good opinion, and expressed 
my pleasure in the duties assigned me; still, I won- 
dered how a mother could so willingly resign her 
highest duty and dearest privilege to another. 

‘Aunt Lucy cleared the thoughtful shadows from 
her brow, and, with a light laugh, said that I was a 
dear girl, but so practical and sensible she was almost 
afraid of me. ‘Then she tried to coax me into the 
drawing-room; she had learned a new piece of music, 
which she must play to me. I resisted her playful 
entreaties, and went to my own chamber, where I sat 
down and dwelt tearfully upon the scene with my 
cousins. 

‘‘ My feelings were so mellowed that my griefs 
rose before my mind with new acuteness and, power. 
LT yearned to see my mother’s quiet grave, where the last 
rose of summer has bloomed and withered. I thought 
of my father, sleeping in the broad, cold ocean; of 
Frank, who has gone to toil at his profession in a distant. 
city ; and QO, how I longed to see your dear face, my 
sister, friend! What wonder that my tears fell, or 
that my head was bowed in anguish, at the tender, 

melancholy retrospection ? 

‘ But, before I slumbered, I read one of the blessed 
Psalms, “which seemed woven of comfort and hope; 
‘and I laid my head upon my yee with a hears 
peaceful and resigned. 

11 


162 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


. “Sent. 16. ‘Cousin Ned’ seem to be household 
words; I hear them almost every hour in the day, 
coupled with expressions of affection and praise. Un- 
cle {ke had a letter from him this morning, and read 
it aloud at the breakfast-table. How pleased and an- 
imated everybody was! Even the taciturn Lauretta 
was eloquent in praising ‘cousin Ned.’ I was glad, 
too, from sympathy; and really wished I knew this 
same cousin Ned. I asked aunt Lucy about him, 
and her long story I will tell to you in a few words. 
He is an orphan, and was adopted, some years ago, by 
his uncle, Ike Lincoln. Uncle Ike — who declares 
himself an incurable old bachelor, and I marvel at it, 
when he is so young, and so finely constituted for 
domestic happiness — has determined to make this Hd- 
ward Lincoln his heir. He has educated him liberally, 
and has now sent him to Kurope, as the finishing means 
of making him a complete gentleman. And, if I am 
to believe his partial relatives, he is worthy of all the 
wealth and affection lavished upon him; a paragon 
of manly excellence. Do you wonder that I am im- 
patient, with the rest, for the return of Edward Lin- 
coln from his foreign tour? 

‘‘ Perhaps you would like to have me tell you 
something about Lauretta Fay. She, too, is an or- 
phan and an heiress. People suppose her fortune to 
be very large ; though Uncle Ike, her guardian, shakes 
his head doubtfully when Lauretta’s property is spoken 
of. She was the only child of an old friend of uncle 
Ike’s, and, since her father’s death, she has made this 
house her home. She is handsome, and might be 
beautiful, were it not for the coldness and hauteur 
which characterize her manners. I imagine she is a 
coquette, from what little I have seen of her in com- 
pany. She dresses magnificently, and is constantly 
attended by a train of admiring and obsequious beaux. 


NEW FRIENDS AND A NEW HOME. 163 


I cannot get acquainted with her, for the peculiar 
tone in which she says, ‘ Miss Clement,’ checks every 
feeling of familiarity. | 

‘¢ Aunt Lucy and Lauretta spend a great amount 
of money and much time, in ‘shopping.’ The quan- 
tity of silk, satins, embroideries and ribbons, which 
they purchase, is astonishing to one of my simple 
habits. 

‘‘ There ! Helen and grace are calling me to go and 
walk with them. I cannot deny the dear children; 
so I drop my pen. More anon. 

‘¢ HLMINA.” 


CHAPTER XVI. 
VARIOUS OPINIONS. 


‘Wo is that beautiful young lady leading Mrs. - 
Lincoln’s little twins from the room? Excepting your 
queenly self, she is the loveliest girl I have seen for 
a month,”’ said one of Lauretta’s admirers, at a small 
party given by Mrs. Lincoln. 

Lauretta colored with vexation, and, curling het 
lip scornfully, replied: ‘‘ O, she is a sort of a cousin 
of Mrs. Lincoln’s —a poor girl from the country. 
She is the children’s governess, though she is treated 
as one of the family.” 

‘‘Q—h, a—h!” stammered the gentleman, evi- 
dently ashamed at his egregious mistake in praising a 
governess. 

‘And you think her beautiful ?”’ asked Lauretta, 
smiling brilliantly, still throwing a look of tender 
reproach into her flashing eyes. 

The young gentleman was enchanted. ‘I don’t 
think anything about her,’ he said, with a flattering 
bow. ‘‘ Miss Fay is so radiant. to- night, that all other 
stars, however bright, are dim beside her dazzling 
beauty.” 

The fair coquette bent her head graciously. 

Miss Arlington now approached, exclaiming, ‘I. 
_ beg you to ee me to that charming girl when 
Ke) 





VARIOUS OPINIONS. 165 





eecomes back again. They tell me she is Mrs. Lin- 
colh’s niece. Whata smile she has! Still there ig 
a look of quiet sorrow upon her sweet face.” 

‘‘T believe she has buried her father lately,” said 
Lauretta. 

“Poor girl!’’ said Miss Arlington, compassion- 
ately. ‘‘That accounts for her gentle, reserved man- 
ners. JI am sure she is amiable, for when little Grace 
asked her to go into the nursery, and tell her and 
Bertie a story before they went to sleep, she went 
directly as though it was her greatest pleasure to make 
others happy.” 

‘Tt is quite natural that Miss Clement should 
wish to gratify the children, as she is their govern- 
ess,’’ said Lauretta. 

Miss Arlington’s intelligent eye told that she under- 
stood the hidden : meaning in Lauretta’s tones. She re- 
doubled her enthusiasm. ‘‘ How the dear children must 
love her! ‘There she comes again; I mean to get ac- 
quainted with her if ane Come, Miss Fay, and 
mtroduce me.’ 

‘¢ Excuse me, I am too weary to cross the room 
now; her aunt is standing near her, and will doubt- 
less do you the favor. You must generously overlook 
all her oddities, or mistakes, as she is quite new in 
society.” 

The young lady knew how to appreciate the smile 
which accompanied these words, and answered with a 
little more spirit than is consistent with Chester- 
fieldian etiquette: ‘I do not imagine that I shall 
discover any oddities or mistakes to overlook. Miss 
Clement has evidently had the advantages of educa- 
- tion and of refined associates, though she may be 
new in New York society. There is a graceful ease 
in her manners which would become any who pride 
themselves upon being leaders of the ton.’’ ° 


166 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


If Lauretta had known that uncle Ike’s eyes had 
been sending scornful daggers, and that his ears had 
heard all her conversation, she would have trembled 
as he came near. When he began speaking, she 
guessed the truth, and shrank from his gaze. He 
spoke to Miss Arlington, but looked at Lduretta. 

‘« Miss Arlington, may I have the pleasure of pre- 
senting you to Miss Clement, the young lady standing 
by my sister-in-law? She is her niece; and, in my 
opinion, the most accomplished and amiable girl of my 
acquaintance.’’ 

“Thank you, Mr. Lincoln; I have been wishing 
for an introduction, for I am quite charmed with her 
appearance.” 

‘The spell will not be broken when you converse 
with her, as her mind is as symmetrical as her person. 
Let me conduct you to her.” Uncle Ike gave Lau-e 
retta another withering glance, and gallantly led Miss 
Arlington away. 

Lauretta fanned herself, violently agitated, while 
burning blushes poured over her neck and brow.” 
“What shocking eyes, Mr. Ike Lincoln has!’’ she 
said. - ‘‘ I actually tremble to have him look at me.” 

The exquisite by her side coincided with her opin- 
ion. The gentleman in question was shockingly 
abrupt and straightforward in his ways; so eccentric, 
too! just to think of calling Mrs. Lincoln’s URS 
the most accomplished lady « of his acquaintance ! 

‘“‘ But rich bachelors are privileged personages,” 
said Lauretta, pouting prettily, ‘‘ and Miss Arlington 
is as bad as uncle Ike. She presumes upon her 
station in society, and is frightfully independent.” 

‘Miss Arlington’s manners are intolerable,’’ said 
the gentleman, “ knowing’ it would delight his com- 
panion to have him abuse her rival, as she considered 
Miss Arlington; ‘‘no one thinks of admiring her. 

‘ 


\ 


VARIOUS OPINIONS. 167 


Let me lead you to the piano; there seems to bea 
pause in the conversation, and your Incomparable 
music will make a refr eshing interlude.”’ 

Lauretta took Mr. Carleton’s arm, and passed with 
him through the drawing-rooms, listening graciously 
to the unméaning flattery which he whispered in He 
ear. 

Elmina soon found herself the centre of a Me 
consisting of the most intelligent and refined in the 
company, brought together by the tact of uncle Ike. 
Unconscious of the admiration she was exciting, she 
joined earnestly in the conversation. The freshness 
and originality of her expressions, combined with the 
unaffected ease of her manner, had more potency over 
the admiration of the other sex than all Lauretta’s 
coquettish graces and dazzling smiles. 

. When Lauretta perceived that her music was unno-, 

ticed by those whom she most wished to attract to her 
side, she rose proudly from the piano, and no persua- 
sions on the part of Mr. Carleton could induce her 
to finish the brilliant overture she had commenced. 
She saw the respect and attention paid to Elmina, 
.and that Miss Arlington and her aristocratic brother 
were already talking with her with the familiarity 
of old acquaintances. Her bosom swelled with angry 
jealousy. She had counted Mr. Arlington among her 
admirers, and his wealth and high station, independ- 
ent of his cultivated mind and elevated principles, 
caused her to value his attentions above those of any 
gentleman present. Her ill-humor was so apparent 
that Mr. Carleton left her, feeling himself somewhat 
agerieved. 

After an agreeable conversation, Mr. Arlington 
proposed to Elmina that she should play and sing for 
them. 

‘“‘T make no pretensions to musical skill,’”’ was 


‘ 


168 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


the smiling reply. ‘I only play for my own pleas- 
ure.’ 

‘“T hope you will play for our pleasure now,’ said 
Miss Arlington. Elmina hesitated a moment, but 
Lucy whispered encouragingly, ‘‘ Do not hesitate, 
Mina; you need not fear to play.” She suffered Mr. 
Arlington to lead her to the instrument, and, without 
one foolish apology, commenced playing a simple mel- 
ody, and accompanied it with a voice of surpassing 
sweetness. Hverybody was pleased, and she was per- 
suaded to play again, and yet again. 

‘““My dear Lauretta!’’ exclaimed Lucy, ‘‘ why 
do you sit here alone? every one is asking for you.” 

Lauretta sat alone in the library, moodily pulling 
in bits her fragrant bouquet. ‘ Let them ask for me, 
then; I prefer to be alone.” 
eo What is the matter; are you sick ?”’ 

‘No, I’m well enough. 4 

“Then come and play,” said Luby, coaxingly. 
‘¢ Elmina and Miss Arlington have been playing, and 
the company now begin to call for you. Come now, 
you know you are the best player and singer present, 
and it would be unkind to deny our guests the 
pleasure of hearing you.”’ 

“Tf Miss Clement has played, I am sure I shan’t! 
The company must have grown fastidious after listen- 
ing to her performance.”’ 

Gentle Mrs. Lincoln looked bewildered and half 
frightened. ‘‘What excuse shall I make for you, 
Lauretta ?’’ she said. 

‘‘Q, here she is, the queen of song!’’ cried Mr. 
Arlington, gayly, as he stepped into the room. ‘ We 
have been listening to some excellent music, and 
now we wish to hear Miss Fay’s rich voice; do not 
deny me.’ 

“A flash of pleasure lighted her face; these well- 








VARIOUS OPINIONS. 169 - 


timed compliments restored her to brilliant temper. 
‘“‘T was a little weary, and so I stole away by my- 
self; but, if it will give you pleasure, I will play.” 

Lauretta was a superior player, and her voice was 
rich and full. She almost excelled herself on this 
occasion. Hlmina listened with unfeigned pleasure. 
She said to uncle Ike, ‘‘ My simple performance is 
quite thrown into the shade by Lauretta’s splendid 
playing.”” Elmina spoke from her heart, and without 
a single touch #f jealousy. Uncle Ike understood 
her, and replied, witha kind smile: ‘‘ Lauretta is cer- 
_ tainly an excellent musician; but your ‘ simple per- 
formance,’ as you call it, gave me the most pleasure. 
You played to gratify others — she for effect.” 

‘‘ However much I might disagree with you, I dare 
not dispute you,” said Elmina playfully. ‘You 
claim such skill in reading the thoughts and motives 
of people, that you doubtless would call me presumpt- 
uous should I express my mind.”’ 

‘‘ Nay, Elmina, I could not be so unjust; but, supper 
is announced, and I see Mr. Arlington coming this 
way; he will offer to escort you to the table.” 

_. JT wish you would wait upon me, uncle Ike, if 
there 1s no other lady whom you should prefer.”’ 

~ — “T declare, you are nervous because Mr. Arling- 

ton looks at you so earnestly. I see you are unused 

to such overpowering attentions.” 

‘‘T don’t like to be flattered; I never know what 
to say.”’ 

‘Well, I am not flattering you, when I tell you 
that I feel honored by your preference.’ Uncle 
Ike laughingly offered his arm: ‘‘ Come, my charm- 
ing, fresh little friend! ”’ 

Mr. Arlington turned away disappointed. 


CHAPTER XVII. 
WELCOME HOME. - 


‘‘Hurra! hurra!” cried uncle Ike, dashing into 
the dining-room, in mad haste. ‘Good news! Ned 
is coming home!” In the exuberance of his joy, 
he performed sundry boyish antics, and then seated 
himself at the table with a comical air of suddenly 
assumed dignity. 

There was a joyful echo of the words, ‘ Ned is 
coming home!” ‘‘ When? how soon may we expect 
him?” was repeated in the same breath. 

‘In about a week,” said uncle Ike, referring to 
his letter. ‘‘He writes that we may look for him in 
a week after receiving this.”’ 

“QO, joyful! ”’ shouted the children; and the beam- 
ing faces of their elders showed that the feeling was 
responsive in every breast. 

Then there arose a discussion as to the manner in 
which they should receive the beloved traveller. Mr. 
Lincoln thought, with Lucy, that the pleasantest way 
to welcome him would be to invite a select party of 
his personal friends on the night of his arrival. Uncle 
Ike wanted to give a great ball, and have a general 
jubilee ; but Lauretta protested against either course. 
‘Let us receive him quietly,” she said. ‘‘ After so 
long a separation, we shall want him all to ourselves 


for a few days, at least. I really think Ned would 
; (170) 


eS 
Sih ae ot teh 


. 


WELCOME HOME. wal 


be disappointed to come home and find the house full 
of company.’ 

‘¢T don’t know but you are right,” said uncle Ike; 
‘and your opinion shall be weighed with the rest, 
after Elmina has expressed hers, as the least interested 
one. I think her the best fitted to decide upon the 
proprieties in the case.’ 

“Tf I am to express my opinion,” said Elmina, 
*‘T shall certainly agree with Lauretta; if I were in 
the young gentleman’s place, I should prefer to be 
received by my relatives Oe and without any 
parade.”’ 

‘‘Then the matter is decided,” said uncle Ike. 
‘‘ We will make no parade about it.” 

Lauretta looked kindly at Elmina, as if grateful 
for her assistance. 

The next day was cold and rainy, so all the female 
members of the family were forced to remain within 
doors. Lauretta and Elmina sat with Lucy in her 
private parlor, and the children quietly amused them- 
selves in one corner. Hach lady had her needlework, 
and the minutes flew happily by, in spite of the 
inclement sky without. Lauretta seldom favored the 
family with her company when there were no visitors; 

. and when, by chance, she sat an hour or so with 
them, she was usually cold, and silent. But to-day 
she was in her sunniest mood, —she threw off her 
haughty reserve, and chatted. cheerfully with her 
companions. Elmina’s heart warmed with. 
at this first unbending of the proud hei 
her, and she talked and laughed in. : 
way until Lauretta wondered that she had not-before 


discovered what toe companion she was. 
P 


”) 






They were interrupted in a pleasant ponversition 
by the sounds of footsteps, and eager talking in the 


ae 


é x 
d te 
ie ¥ 5 





- 


v 






172 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


hall below. ‘‘T really believe Ned has or’ ”” said 
Lucy, opening the door. 

‘He has! he has!” cried Grace, following her 
mother. ‘‘He is coming up stairs with papa and 
uncle Ike.” The little girl sprang up and down, 
clapping her hands gleefully. 

Ned had arrived, and five days sooner than ex- 
pected; but for this his weleome was all the more 
joyful. 

Elmina retreated to the further part of the room, 
that she might not intrude upon the first moments of 
their reiinion. | 

The young man was.as demonstrative of his pleas- 
ure as the children, who were wild with joy. He 
shook and kissed his little cousins, affectionately 
saluted Lucy, and put Lauretta’s hand to his lips, 
while his eyes expressed volumes of admiration. A 
flush of joy glowed on Lauretta’s face, and animated 
her features. Elmina thought she had never seen 
her look so beautiful before. 

It was many minutes before the greetings were 
over, and then a flood of questions unanswered, and 
answers without questions, were poured from every 
tongue. Hach seemed to vie with the others in say- 
ing the most in the shortest space of time. EHl- 
mina had a fair opportunity to observe the personal 
appearance of this much talked of ‘‘cousin Ned.’ 
His figure was tall and finely proportioned; the 
developments of his head were somewhat marked ; 
his wav e.. of raven blackness, was thrown back 
sa ale a forehead broad and white; and his eyes were 
full of fire, yet softened with refined feeling. There 
was an air of high-breeding about him, seemingly 
more natural than acquired, and his voice was pecu- 


liarly musical; there was something in its mellow _ 


tones which touched a chord of olden memory in 








WELCOME HOME. : 173 


Elmina’s heart. She regarded him with a new and 
increasing interest. In the eloquent play of his 
features there was something strangely familiar. It 
could not be his resemblance to his uncles, for his 
looks and manners strongly contrasted with either of 
them. 

Lucy now bethought herself to introduce her niece. 
The young gentleman took her hand with cordiality, 
but Helen and Grace were so importunate in their 
calls upon his attention, that he merely gave her a 
passing glance. 

Elmina took a retired seat and resumed her needle- 
work. Mr. George Lincoln left for his place of busi- 
ness, and Lucy went to the basement to give some 
additional orders about dinner. - Uncle Ike took a 
Jarge rocking-chair, and, folding his arms, sat silently 
gazing upon his nephew, with an expression of fond 
affection. Soon Helen and Grace went to get the 
pictures they had drawn; and the presents they had 
received during Ned’s absence, to display to him. 
Lauretta and the young, traveller occupied the sofa 
together, and little Bertie nestled silently and fondly 
to his cousin’s side. 

How beautiful Lauretta looked! Al her hauteur 

s merged into a graceful cordiality, all the coquet- 
tish airs which she often assumed in company with 
those of the opposite sex were exchanged for a sweet 

ee sinphcity of manner ; a new and pleasing light beamed 
tie her eye, and brightened every feature, and her 
lute-like voice seemed to flow in liquid music from 

. her heart. 
( ‘Elmina gazed upon her, marveling at the trans- 
formation. Could this be the scornfal, arrogant 


Lauretta Fay? An unconscious smile parted her. 


lips as she said, to herself, “If Lauretta does not 
love this Ned Lincoln, she certainly values and 


y 
aes : 
ie 
fy 
a 


174 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. . 


esteems him above all others of her acquaintance.” 
And Elmina could not wonder that it was so, as she 
listened to his manly, intelligent conversation. His 
choice yet simple language testified of a cultivated 
mind, and his expressions were sparkling with wit 
and humor. Elimina’s breast was stirred with feel- 
ings which she herself could not define. It was not 
the fascination of his manner which riveted her at- 
tention; but his voice and smile— where had she 
heard and seen them before? The query was repeated 
so often that she grew bewildered, and, at length, in 
considerable agitation, she left the room, inwardly 
chiding herself for yielding to the unconquerable 
weakness. 

Uncle Ike’s eye followed her with a quizzical 
gleam, and a knowing, self-satisfied smile spread it- 
self over his benign countenance ; he even rubbed his 
hands softly together, as a gentle vent to some inward 
exultation. :. 

At the tea-table cousin Ned, for the first time, nar- 
rowly observed our heroine; and then the little start 
he gave, and the sudden lighting of his face, made her 
pulse beat nervously. He did not address her, but 
she knew his eyes were often stealing a glance at her. 
She grew embarrassed at the painful earnestness with 
which he regarded her. ‘She felt that his observation 
of her was very unlike the sharp scrutiny which so 
discomposed her at first meeting uncle Ike, and as 
unlike the undisguised admiration spoken by Mr. 
Arlington’s eyes at their evening party. She could 
not analyze his look, or:her own emotions. At length, 
she did not dare to raise her eyes, and the long 
lashes swept her crimson cheek. — - ; 

Uncle Ike rallied her upon her silence, and wished 
to know if it was awe of his travelled nephéw which 
chained her tongue. Lucy joined in joking her, and 


WELCOME HOME. | 175 


for a moment Elmina felt as though she could not 
bear their banter. 

Uncle Ike enjoyed her confusion, and then, just as 
he felt a pang of remorse, Elmina, with a great effort 
at self-control, stilled the tremor agitating her frame, 
and raised her head composedly. "She was herself 
again. 

“Uncle Ike seemed infinitely amused, thous no 
one at the table could guess why, and laughed 
uproariously. 


Elimina usually spent a couple of hours in the 
library before breakfast. The bookcase, with its 
rich and varied stores, was the chief attraction, and, 
as the apartment answered somewhat to her ideal of a 
study-room, it was her favorite seat. The furniture 
Was elegant and costly, but simple in style, and the 
rich hues of the carpet blended with the delicate 
green of the silken curtains, and threw a warm glow 
upon the rose-wreaths blooming in almost life-like 
_ beauty upon the frescoed walls. A few rare paint-’ 
ings, busts, and statuettes, filled the niches, which 
seemed expressly made for them. Hlmina often sat 
_ at a beautiful desk of oriental workmanship, which 
she preferred to the ponderous writing-table in the 
centre of the room. Here she spent her happiest 
hours, in the silent yet intelligent companionship of 
books. Here she revelled in the poet’s airy dreams, 
or bent breathless over pages of historic lore. Here 
she wept or laughed in obedience to the changing 
spirit of the drama, and pored curiously over huge 
scientific volumes, which many maidens would push 
away in disdain. 

On the morrow, Elmina arose with the sun, and, 
after making her simple toilet, took her accustomed 
seat in the library. But somehow, on this morning, 


176 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


her tastes were capricious; for, though she had se- 
lected her favorite poet, her thoughts wandered far 
away into the shadowy past. Her eyes were fixed 
upon the page, but pleasant memories rose before, and 
hid the letters from her gaze. She dreamed of the 
sweet time when death or changing circumstance had 
never robbed her of a single friend; of the blessed 
days of childhood, hallowed by the love of tender 
parents, and of that beautiful friendship which bright- 
ened those glad days. Now, both father and mother ~ 
had sought.a better home; now, she was separated 
from her only brother and her beloved Dora, and 
years had passed since she had heard a lisp from Josie 
Lee, her dear teacher and elder sister, or Clinton, 
whom she still remembered fondly. But she forgot 
the present in the happy past, and her countenance 
was softly irradiated with the sweet memory. ¢ 

‘‘Good-morning,’’ in a manly voice, started the 
dreaming girl. It was uncle Ike’s nephew and heir 
who stood before her. She returned his salutation, 
half-bewildered, for he took her hand and held it fast, 
gazing upon her with a tremulous lip. 

‘Tt 1s a lovely morning,” she said, ineffectually 
trying to regain her hand. | 

““T have not thought of the morning; I can only 
think of the joyful fact that I behold Hlmina Clem- 
ent!’’ His tone was full of feeling. Elmina could 
only look upon him in anxious surprise. 

‘JT recognized you at the tea-table,’’ continued the 
young man, ‘but, as you did not claim my acquaint- 
anceship, [ could not speak to you till we were alone. 
Elmina!” he repeated, with increasing earnestness ; 
‘‘but you do not respond to my pleasure. And is 
the past forgotten; and must we form anew our ac-_ 
quaintance, as though we had never met?’ 

He relinquished her hand, and stepped back with a 
reproachful, sorrowful air. 


WELCOME HOME. Lté 


“Mr. Lincoln, I do not understand you! though 
it seems that I have known you before; I cannot tell 
when and where.” ; 

The young man approached her again. . A sudden, 
joyful thought darted across her mind: ‘‘ Can it be 
possible that this is Clint ‘ 

‘Can it be possible you do not know me? Mr. 
Lincoln is not my name; but Clinton Edward For- 
rest ! ”’ | 

‘Clinton! my dear brother Clint! ’’ cried Elmina, 
holding out both her hands, with overflowing eyes. 

He drew her to him, and tenderly kissed her brow. 

‘You are unchanged,” he said, studying her sweet 
face; ‘‘only grown mto womanhood, fulfill the 
rich promise of childhood. I did not believe that you 
would meet me in coldness, though I might have ar- — 
gued so, from your unbroken silence.” 

‘OQ, Clinton, I have much to explain to you! But 
first let me assure you that I had not the most remote 
idea that the ‘cousin Ned’ whom I have heard so 
much about and the adopted brother of my childhood 
were identical.” 

‘What could my uncle have been thinking of?” 
said Clinton. ‘‘I wonder he did not know at once 
that you were the dear little Mina Clement whom I 
have so often described. And you imagined my name 
was Ned Lincoln ?”’ 

‘Yes, though I never heard any one call you any 
thing but Ned. Now let us sit down, and I will tell 
you of the circumstances which have caused so long 
and complete a separation between us.”’ 

They sat down together, as free from restraint and 
embarrassment as though they really were brother and 
_ sister, and time and distance had never separated them. 

‘You remember, Clinton, that my aunt Jane ap- 
peared to be penton of my father’s regard for you; 

f 





178 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


but, O, Clint! you do not know— you have not 
heard of —of—’”’ The painful recollection, coming so 
suddenly upon her mind, quite overcame her, and she 
hid her face upon the shoulder of her newly-found 
brother, and axept silently. 

Clinton half-guessed the cause of her emotion. 
‘‘ Mina, my sweet sister, do those tears tell me that 
‘your good father is dead ? ”’ 

‘Yes, yes,’’ she sobbed. 

For a time they were silent; and then Elmina 
raised her head, with restored composure, though her 
voice quivered as she said, ‘‘I cannot tell you about 
him now; some other time I will. Now I must tell 
you of the fate of your letters. I said aunt Jane 
was jealous of you. I knew it, but did not think her 
-eapable of performing such acts as that jealousy ex- 
cited her to do. Your first letter gave me great 
pleasure, and I answered it directly. Aunt Jane 
tried to convince me that it was improper for me to 
write to you; but I persisted, and, to my surprise, she 
amiably offered to send James with it to the office. 
When I received your second letter, I was ill with a 
headache ; but I was so much grieved that you had 
not heard from me, that I wrote a hasty note, and _ 
intrusted it to my cousin James. He told me, at 
night, that he had delivered it safely into the post- 
master’s hands. ‘After a while 1 grew impatient that 
you did not write again, and father was as anxious as 
I. Frank inquired for you in all his letters. Aunt | 
Jane said some disagreeable things to father, about 
your having found better friends, and called you un- 
grateful. For a time father was very unhappy about 
it, and I was sadly grieved. Dora and I talked much 
about you,—always wondering and mourning over 
your unaccountable silence. After several months, 
by accident I found, in one of aunt’s drawers, one 


WELCOME HOME. 179 


of my letters to you. At first aunt Jane tried to 
excuse It away; but my suspicions were aroused, and I 
insisted upon an explanation. Then she angrily ac- 
knowledged that she had burned my previous letter, 
and concealed this, with the intention of destroying 
all communication between yourself and our family.” 

Clinton’s eye and cheek were glewing with the 
fire of indignation. ‘‘ Wicked, unfeeling woman!”’ 
he cried. ‘‘ Alas, how well she succeeded in her 
scheme! I thought you cared no longer for me, and 
mourned almost as sadly as though death had divided 
us. And you and your father must have felt injured 
and grieved at my apparent ingratitude. What did 
your father do, Elmina? He did not let her stay in 
his house any longer, I hope?” 

** Ah, Clint! ” said Elmina, ‘“‘ I should have known 
you anywhere, looking and speaking as you do now; 
just’ as I have seen you look a hundred times, when 
your’spirit was roused by the injustice of another.” 

Clinton smiled, a little deprecatingly, as he said, 
“ You will find that I am the same impulsive Clint 
whom, in the days past, you so often curbed with 
your gentle, restraining voice; though I hope more 
reason and moderation temper my spirit. I suppose 
you forgave your aunt Jane, even before she asked 
pardon, and coaxed your father to forgive her, also.” 

‘¢ Nay, it was very hard for me to forgive her; but 
I feared to tell my father, for I knew he could never 
overlook such duplicity in a member of his family; 
so, rather than have her turned in disgrace from the 
house, I concealed the facts from him. I confided 
my grievances to Josie Lee; and you know I could 
not find’a better or truer friend.” 

‘But I wrote to Josephine, too. Did the same 
fate attend her letter ?”’ 

‘‘ Tt was in vacation, and she was off on a journey, 


1 


180 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


at the time it arrived. When she received the letter, 
it was too late to address you as directed. We both 
hoped and expected you would write again, that we 


‘might have some clue to your whereabouts. Josie 


often shed tears when talking of her sich little 
brother, as she ever called you.”’ 

‘“‘T see that I was wrong, very Wrong, to let my 
proud spirit rule me then,” said Clinton, sorrowfully ; 
‘‘but I thought the poor orphan boy was no longer 
cared for, and I could not force myself upon the notice 
even of those so dearly loved, merely because they 
had befriended my desolate childhood. But, m my 
hastiness,. wronged you all; and the punishment it 
brought was severe enough to expiate the sin.”’ , 

** Do not reproach yourself,’ said Elmina, ‘ for 
we never dreamed of blaming you, after we knew you 
had not received one word from your Oakville friends. 


. When Frank came home, out of justice to you, we 


* 


‘showed Josie’s letter to him, which stated that you 


had heard nothing from me; but I never told him of 
the part my aunt had acted, for I knew the house 
could not hold them both, after that. I am so happy 
to know, Clinton, that you have found this good 
home, and such a noble guardian as uncle Ike. Pray 
tell me how you discovered your relatives.”’ » 

In rapid language, Clinton told of the circum- 
stances which placed. him in Philadelphia ; of his rup- 
ture with Mr. Gay, his employer, and the opportune 
meeting with uncle Ike. His listener’s face was 
beaming with pleasure, as he concluded his brief, but 
interesting narrative. : 

« And you have lived in plenty, and had every op- 
portunity for intellectual culture? ”’ 

‘Yes, Elmina, everything to make me happy, but 
the knowledge that I was kindly remembered by my 
childhood’s friends. My uncles both treat me as 8 


WELCOME HOME. 181 


favored son; uncle Ike long since declared me to be 
his adopted son and heir, and his wealth and love 
have been lavished unsparingly upon me.”’ 

‘¢Q, Clint, how happy this knowledge makes me! 
I never dreamed that the poor, unfortunate Clint For- 
rest, whom I so pitied in my childish days, would find 
such proud and wealthy relatives.’’ 

‘‘ No, dear sister, —I do love to call you so, —it was 
my wretched condition which interested your tender 
little heart for me. Whatever others may have done 
for me, you deserve my first and deepest gratitude.” 

Her hand lay in his, and her tear-wet eyes beamed 
affectionately upon him. 

‘¢ Ned, Elmina, what does this mean! ”’ said uncle 
Ike, standing gravely before them. ‘‘Is not this un- 
warrantable familiarity for a young gentleman and 
lady holding their first téte-a-téte. Elmina, I thought 
you were very maidenly and reserved; here I find 
you talking with my nephew, who is an entire stranger 
to you, as though he were your brother, lover — I 
might say.’’ 

With a varying cheek, Hlmina rose, and said, 


‘When you bade me call you uncle, I did note 


imagine you had so good a claim to the title. I have 
found in your nephew the adopted brother of my 
childhood.’ 

‘‘ What — how is this?” said uncle Ike, the as- 
sumed sternness of his countenance gradually relaxing 
into a smile. 

“Uncle Ike, you cannot deceive me!” exclaimed 
Clinton. “I read it in your eyes ;— you know this is 
the same Mina Clement who was a good angel.to your 
orphan nephew.” 

“Yes, yes, I suppose I must own up. Bless you, 


Elmina, for your loving heart!” cried uncle Ike, © 


laughing, and almost crying. 


ie ae 
Bae 7 SP ed 





182 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 

‘Why did you not tell her who I was?” said 
Clinton. ‘It would have made her happier, could she 
have known that I was your fortunate nephew.” 

‘You see, Ned, Ly, ways angry with those 
Oakville folks, in spite. of ae. ratitude, for dropping 
you so suddenly. So, when I discover ed that Lucy’s 
niece was the darling little Mina you have so often 
eulogized (which was immediately after she came 
here), IT thought to punish her a little for so cruelly 
neglecting you. I persuaded brother George to say 
nothing which would give her any idea as to who 
‘cousin Ned’ was ; and as Lucy had no suspicions, it 
was easy getting along with it. But when I learned 
to know you, dear Mina,” he continued, looking fond- 
ly upon the happy girl, “‘ I was sure you were inno- 
cent of any unkindness to Ned, and that you could 
make a satisfactory explanation. Still I persisted i 
the harmless deception, for I wanted to see how soon” 
you would recognize each other.” 

“T thank you for believing that I did not wilfully 
neglect Clinton,” said Elmina: ‘for 1 assure you I 
was as much affected as himself, when.I found that, 
through the ill-will of another, all my letters to him 
had been detained.” 

‘‘T have not the least doubt of it, my dei and 
it’s a fact, I’ve been sorely tempted, many a time, to 
thank you for your goodness to httle Clint, and to 
ask about that good Jo osephine Lee.” 

‘Tam almost bewildered, trying to think how all 
this came about,’’ said Elmina. “How could the 
child of your sis ter be left to struggle with poverty, 
and without friends ?”’ 

“Tt isa long, sad story,’ said Clinton. “Unde 
Ike, will you not tell her about my unfortunate 
mothees ty? . 

‘Certainly, she has a right to demand an explana- 





ie A ; 
. Ww 


ne 
% 


“WELCOME HOME. 183 


tion. let us sit down here together, and I will tell 
the story in the fewest words. You must know, El- 
mina, that my father was a very wealthy and aristo- 
cratic man, proud as Lucifer, and unbending in his 
will. My mother was his opposite in every respect ; 
gentle and timid, almost to a fault. George, Annie, 
and J, were the only children. Annie was very un- 
like George or myself; her hair was black agmidnight, 
and her eyes dark and lustrous ; her form was superb, 
and she had the daintiest hand and foot. She knew 
that she was very beautiful, but she ever seemed in- 
different to the admiration. her beauty excited. She 
inherited her father’s passionate temper and indomita- 
ble will, and possessed her mother’s confiding, affec- 
tionate disposition. How we loved and worshipped 
our beautiful Annie! From her infancy, father never 
denied her a single wish, and our mother’s very life 
‘was bound up in hers. George watched over her 
with fond pride, and I, her younger brother, looked 
up to her as the very embodiment of beauty and 
goodness. She had the most engaging ways! —I see 
her now, with her fascinating smile ! 

‘‘ At school she formed the acquaintance of a 
young man named Clinton Forrest. He was an or- 
phan, and poor; yet, in spite of all obstacles, he was 
determined to acquire a classical education, and fit 
himself for a lawyer. This young man and my sister 
loved each other. My father did not appreciate the 
manly worth of Forrest’s character, but felt outraged 
that a poor boy should aspire to the hand of his 
daughter. He treated him with insult, and com- 
manded Annie to see him no more. He then intro-° 
duced her to a wealthy and aristocratic gentleman, 
with a strong hint to encourage his addresses. 

‘In vain did Annie plead the cause of her lover ; 
in vain did she entreat our father to permit her to 


/ 


184 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


wait a few years, in the hope that Forrest would win 
his good will, for he angrily forbade her to mention 
his name again. 

‘¢ Annie could not bear this injustice. She was too 
proud— too like our father. She suddenly disappeared 
from our home, leaving no trace by which we could 
ever find her. In the brief note of farewell, which 

upon her table, she stated that youne For- 





they ¥ were to be married, and then, seek some obscure 
place, where they hoped to make a happy,. though 
humble, home. 

“Our parents were filled with grief and dismay, 
and made strict but unavailing search for her. 
Our dear, broken-hearted mother died soon after, and 
father lived until old age, a changed and sorrowing 
man.” 


CHAPTER XVIII. 
AN OLD FRIEND APPEARS UPON THE STAGE. 


Iv is a small back chamber, meagrely furnished ; 
and yet there is an air of refinement in the disposal 
of the few articles of furniture. In one corner stands 
a table, with a handsome portable writing-desk upon 
it, and a few well-bound books; proof that the higher 
faculties of the mind are not forgotten in the midst 
of wearisome labor for bread and raiment. 

In a low chair, by the window, is a pale, high- 
browed woman, sewing rapidly by the fading light. 
She is youthful still, though there are lines of care 
and grief upon her sweet face, which make the quiet 
cheerfulness overspreading it very touching. 

At her feet, playing with some wooden blocks, are 
two children, apparently three and four years old. 
‘¢ Josie,” said the mother, at length, when the heavy 
twilight caused her to drop the bit of steel which she 
had been plying for many successive hours, ‘‘ Josie, 
you may draw out the trundle-bed now ;:it is time for 
you and little Willie to go to sleep.”’ 

That clear, sweet voice —that cheerful smile — 
they are not unfamiliar to us. We recognize Jo- 
sephine Lee, the happy-tempered girl we so loved in 
the days of yore. Alas! she isa widow; and her own 
slender fingers’ are the sole BrUber of herself and 


little ones. 
(185) 





186 . THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


God help the widow and the fatherless! brighten 
with sunbeams of hope their shadowy pathway! 

Josephine listened to the evening prayers of the 
little ones; for a moment she bent over them in silent 
supplication, and then resumed her work by the flick- 
ering light of a single candle. She had spent a week 
of incessant labor upon an elegant evening dress, and 
now a few stitches would complete it. 
_ She rose, in answer to an imperative knock, and ad- 
mitted a young lady dressed with exceeding richness. 
Josephine politely offered her a seat, assuring her that 
her dress would be finished in five minutes, if she 
would have the goodness to wait. The lady seated 
herself with a contemptuous glance at the bare-floor, 
and one of cold surprise upon the sleeping children. 
There was a chilling silence, broken only by the little 
click of thimble and needle. The humble Josephine 
could not address the proud lady before her, and the 
lady herself would have laughed at the idea of 
speaking more than was necessary to a poor seam- 
stress. 

When Josephine arose, saying her task was done, 
the lady inquired the price of her work. 

“Three dollars.” 

‘Ts not that high merely for making a lineaad - 
said the young lady, taking out a tasselled purse., 

“T think not, Miss Fay,” said Josephine, gently. 
““T have worked upon it a whole week, and sat up 
very late some nights. It took me a long time to 
embroider the sleeves and bosom. I hope it pleases 
you,”’ she continued, displaying the beautiful work. 

‘‘T have no fault to find with it. I have no small 
bills; can you change a ten?” 

Josephine could not; she had but a dollar in the 
world, and that she owed the baker. She shook her 
head negatively. . oe 








AN OLD FRIEND ON THE STAGE. 







" {tis just as well,” said the ladyges 
biflg te her purse. “T shall have gomie,more work 
for you soon, and can pay it all together.’ Witha - 
slight inclination of her head, she turned away, fol- ; 
lowed by her servant, who car rried the box containing — 
her exegant dress to the carriage. 

Josephine stood like one stupefied, then sank into a 
chair, covering her face with her hands, as if to shut 
out the appalling vision which rose before her. 

For many months she had maintained her family 
by work received from an extensive ready-made cloth- 
ing establishment. But the pay was so scanty, that 
she had undertaken this fine work as an experiment, 
hoping to receive better remuneration. Now the 
experiment had been tried, and proved a failure. 

What wonder her spirit fainted by the way, or that 
she wept sadly, almost despairingly, over her uncon- 
scious children ? 


‘‘ Mina, [ have a most. philanthropic plan in my 
head,’’ said Clinton, one morning’ after breakfast, 
‘‘and I want your assistance. Uncle Ike has a block 
of dwelling-houses building on A street. It is 
going to be “finished plainly, “but neatly, and the loca- 
tion is healthy. I have begged the privilege of 
finding tenants for him; and when I told him I meant 
to fill the building with those who needed good homes, 
he said he supposed he must humor me, even if it 
would be at the expense of his pocket. I have 
already found,three’ poor but respectable families, 
who are delighted with the prospect of living in a 
comfortable tenement, and not being obliged to pay 
an exorbitant price. I suppose you know, Elmina, 
that there are hundreds of poor women and hee: 
girls in this city, wearing their lives away by sewing 
night as well as day, for a mere pittance. Many an 


188 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


innocent seamstress is obliged to live among low peo- 
ple, merely because she cannot afford to pay for 
respectable lodgings. Now, my plan is, for you to 
help me find enough deserving needle-women to oc- 
cupy the remainder of the block; then I shall depend 
upon you and Lauretta and aunt Lucy to supply 
them with work at fair prices. Come, Lauretta, will 
you go with us? we may find amusement, if we can 


do no good.” 
‘ Impossible,’’-said Lauretta, repressing an excla- 
mation of disgust. ‘‘I could not endure to go into 


dirty lanes and gloomy houses; and of course you 
cannot find your poor seamstresses without going 
into such places. And as for the amusement, I 
should call it very questionable.” 

‘‘ Elmina will not disappoint me, I am sure,” said 
Clinton. 

‘Certainly not; I am charmed with your benevo- 
lent plan,” said Elmina, as she tripped away to get 
her bonnet and shawl. 

After they were gone, Lauretta threw herself lan- 
guidly upon the sofa, a frown of dissatisfaction 
disfiguring her smooth brow. 

‘Does your head ache? ”’ sweetly inquired Bertie, 
who stood near. - 

“No,” said Lauretta, drawing the little fellow 
towards her. ‘I was thinking how strange it is 
that no one loves me any, since Elmina has come 
eye, i 

‘“Not love you any!” repeated Bertie; ‘I am 
sure I love you better than before. I love everybody 
more than I did before dear cousin Mina came. And 
now cousin Clint has come, I am so happy! Don’t 
you think Clinton is a prettier name than Ned? 
Mamma says Clinton sounds pleasantest to her, 
because Mina calls him so.” | 


a 


AN OLD FRIEND ON THE STAGE. 189 


‘What is the reason you all love Elmina so- 
much ?”’ 

‘“‘Q, because she is so good.” 

“Then you think her very good ?”’ anid Lauretta, 
peevishly. ‘‘It is strange that I never have dis- 
covered it.” 

O, fie, Lauretta! thus to expose your jealousy 
to pure-hearted Bertie. ‘The little one raised his 
heavenly blue eyes to her face in surprise, and then 
walked slowly away, with a grave, sorrowful expres- 
sion, as though he were wounded at her words. 

Tears came to Lauretta’s eyes. ‘‘I have frightened 
angel Bertie away from me. O, it must be that I 
am indeed unlovely ! ” 


Clinton and Elmina succeeded beyond their expect- 
ations, and were every moment growing still better 
pleased with their somewhat novel expedition. A 
child met them on the pave, dressed in coarse but clean 
clothes. There was an air of native grace about the 
little one, which prompted Elmina to stop her with a 
kiss. ‘* What is your name, sis?”’ 

‘Josephine Lee Emery,’”’ was the reply, in the 
quick, lisping accents of childhood. 

‘Ts not her countenance familiar to you, Clinton?” 

‘‘ Tt is, indeed. Can it be possible that this is the 
child of Josie Lee, our dear elder sister ?”’ 

““T think it must be, Clint; for her husband’s 
name was Emery, and this child resembles her 
greatly.” 

‘Where do you live, little Josephine?” said 
Clinton. ‘Far from here?” 

“Only a little way down that street,’’ answered 
the child, pointing with her dimpled finger. “Do 
you know my mamma? I wish you would go and 
see her, for she is sorry to-day.” 


TOG oS THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


‘We will go with you, sweet child,” said Elmina, 
‘Cand perhaps we shall make your mother glad.” 

Filled with joyful expectation, they were led by 
Josie to her mother’s door. One glance at Josephine’ 
Emery’s worn but still beautiful face was enough to 
assure them that they had found the beloved friend 
of their childhood. As-she did not recognize them, 
they passed in as strangers. Clinton made known 
their mission in the same manner he had done to the 
other poor women with whom they had conversed. 

‘Your plan is a noble one,”’ said Josephine. ‘I 
eannot sufficiently thank you for your kindness, for 
you have come to me in my greatest need. I can 

~ find no work which will bring me a fair reward.” 

‘OQ, Clint,” cried Elmina, unable longer to restrain 
herself, ‘‘ we have found Josie Lee in the midst of 
want and privation!” 

Josephine started forward, looking earnestly from 
one to the other; then, in joyful recognition, she 
exclaimed, ‘‘ Clinton! Elmina! is it possible I behold 
you both again?” 


We will not attempt a description of this happy © | 


. meeting, or the long explanations, which, though 
interesting to themselves, would be tedious to the 
reader. Suffice it to say, they spent a joyful hour, 
and the rose-color again glowed on Josephine’s cheek, 
and happiness sparkled in her eye. | 

As they were leaving, Elmina gave the little Josie 
a golden eagle, with the playful remark that it was 
for her mother’s looks which she wore. 

Clinton would not have Willie slighted, and placed 
a similar coin in his chubby hand. Josephine under- 
stood their delicate kindness, and thanked them, in 
her overflowing heart, in silence. 


C.HA PAL BE Be > XX. 


THE BROKEN IDOL. 


‘* Wert weary, gentle dove, of this cold world? 
And didst thou long to rest thy little pinions 
Far in those bri ight and beautiful dominions 

Where they at last are furled? 


‘* Wert homesick, darling? Could thy little heart 
Yearn for a love more tender than we bore thee ? 
Yearn for a watch more fond and faithful o’er thee, 
That thou shouldst hence depart? ’’ 
C. M..8. 


Lucy had returned late at night from a scene of 
festivity. Before she laid aside her costly dress, or 
unclasped the jewels decking her graceful person, she 
glided with soft foot-fall to the nursery. It was the 
instinct of her motherly tenderness which made he 


_ , yearn to look upon her children before she slept. 


Helen and Grace lay side by side, folded gently in 
slumber’s embrace, beautiful models of health and 
innocence. ‘The young mother kissed each white 
brow with irrepressible fondness, then turned to 
Bertie’s bedside. Why does her cheek pale, and her 
breath come quickly, as she bends over the sleep- 
ing cherub? Bertie’s face is flushed with crimson, 
and the blue veins in his temples rise and fall with 
fearful quickness; the little arms are tossed restlessly 
above his head, and, ’mid hig labored breathing, he 
murmurs incoherently. For a moment Lucy gazes 


upon him, and then seeks her husband in nervous haste. 
(191) 


sb 


192 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. ; 
‘‘George, come into the nursery quickly! I fear 
Bertie is very sick.”’ 
‘You are fanciful, dear Lucy,” said Mr. Lincoln, 
playfully, as he followed his wife. But one glance at 
Bertie changed his unbelieving smile into an expres- 


sion of alarm. ‘You are right, Lucy,’? he said; * 


‘“‘he appears to be in a high fever.” 

‘““O, send for the doctor, quickly!”’ cried Lucy, 
clasping her hands. 

““T will go myself; for delay might be dangerous.” 

Lucy impatiently requested her maid, Maggie, to 
waken Elmina, and ask her to come to her imme- 
diately. Elmina needed not a second bidding. Spring- 
ing lightly from her bed, she threw on a loose wrap- 
per, and hastened to the nursery. 

‘What do you think of him?” 

‘He seems to be violently attacked with fever; 
his breath is almost scorching,” replied Elmina, a 
shade of anxiety overspreading her face. 

Lucy wrung her hands. ‘*O Bertie, my dearest, 
most beautiful child! If he should die! Elmina, 
tell me, what shall I do?’’. 

How strangely at variance was her gala dress with 
the ‘pete written on her face.and her half-frenzied 
words! Her unbound hair fell wildly over the 
rich folds of her satin bodice, and the jewels on her 
arms gleamed fitfully in the pale light. Elmina 
looked at her with a strange fear chilling her heart; 
still she said, with gentle composure, ‘‘ Dear aunt 
Lucy, try and calm yourself. The doctor will be 
here soon, and may relieve him immediately. I will 
stay with Bertie while you go and put on a more 
suitable dress.” 


Lucy followed Maggie to her dressing-room. El-— 


mina bathed Bertie’s burning limbs in cool water, 
and bound a wet linen cloth about his forehead. 


2S eee 


THE BROKEN IDOL. 193 


*¢ Wake up, darling, and drink some water,’’ she ten- 
derly pleaded; but he only moaned and tossed fever- 
ishly from side to side. ; 

Soon the physician came, hut his skill seemed 
baffled. All his remedies, all the efforts of agonized 
love, failed, to shake off the stupor which bound the 
senses of the precious one; and quicker, fiercer still 
the life-current rushed through its tiny channels. 
When the morning dawned upon their tearful vigils, 
the doctor left them, saying there was no_ hope. 
In wild delirium little Bertie rolled upon his downy 
pillow. . 

O, the days that followed —days of hopeless watch- 
ings, and long nights whose agonized hours seemed 
endless! Heavy gloom rested upon that gay and 
worldly household. ‘Tripping footsteps and light 
laughter were exchanged for the muffled tread and: 
broken whispers. Eyes unused to weeping were 
dimmed with grief-drops now, and pale, sad faces 
haunted the stairway and entrance to Bertie’s cham- 
ber. 

How powerless is human aid when death broods 
over a beloved one! How powerless is human sym- 
pathy when such waves of anguish flood the soul! 
Without the abiding presence of the blessed Comforter 
in the stricken heart, there is indeed no hope, and all 
words of consolation are but mockery. 

Though the hearts that so idolized the little Bertie 
were generous, and filled with kindly impulses, they 
were undisciplined and thoughtless. They had looked 
upon religion as a beautiful thing, to be praised and 
revered, but they had no realization of its life-sustain- 
ing power. It had no hold upon their affections, for 
earthly objects and pursuits occupied their whole 
attention. Now their idol was stricken with fearful 
disease; the arms of death were opened to receive 

13 . 


194 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


their best loved. O, how wild was the rebellion 
in their grief-wrought hearts! How fearfully love 
struggled with iron necessity ! 

In all Elmina’s trials and afflictions, she had never 
been entirely left a prey to haunting orief : for early 
education had implanted in her breast a living Chris-* 
tian faith. She was inexpressibly grieved to witness 
the utter despair manifested by her uncle and aunt, 
and, in fact, by the whole family. She alone was 
serene and self-possessed. She constantly attended 
upon the little sufferer, and directed the whole 
arrangements of the sick room; for poor Lucy ap- 
peared like one walking in a dream, and was com- 
pletely unfitted for the least care. 

In all the wanderings of Bertie’s mind, he mur- 
mured of beautiful things, — of birds and flowers, of . 
the sweet country, — and often the names of his best- 
loved friends were upon his lips. Not until the morn- 
ing of the fifth day did the cloud obscuring his mind 
pass ‘away. Then, after an hour’s slumber, he woke 
with a familiar smile upon his cherub face, and the 
old loye-light in his eye. But his face was paler 
than the frosted lily, and he had scarce strength to 
speak above a whisper, or to raise his tiny hand. 

‘‘Mamma,’’ he whispered, ‘‘ I am better.” 

Lucy covered him with kisses, while joyful tears 
streamed from her eyes. Elmina, too, was deceived, 


and looked up at the doctor with a hopeful smile. 


The doctor looked upon the child, whose spirit’s 
pinions were already pluming for his heavenward 
fight, and sadly shook his head. ‘‘I told you at the 
first there was no hope,”’ he said, “‘and it would be 
wrong in me to deceive you now. Bertie can never 
see another sunrise.” _ 

‘‘Q, doctor, don’t say so! he must be better. See 


THE BROKEN IDOL. 195 


how natural he looks; he hag no fever now, for his 
hand is cool and moist.” 

The kind-hearted physician dashed aside a tear. He 
could not look unmoved upon that mother’s imploring 
face. He pointed to Bertie, over whose brow were 
already stealing the shadows of death. Lucy had 
never seen death, but she felt instinctively that it was 
present now. With a faint cry, she hid, her face in 
the bed-curtains. | 

‘“‘Good-by, mamma!” 

‘* Bertie, why do you say ‘good-by’?—you are not 
going to leave mamma !.”’ 

‘Yes; there is an angel coming for me. There 
are flowers there, mamma, such beautiful flowers ! ”’ 

“* Bertie, Bertie, don’t talk so! Are you not here 
in your own little bed, with mamma beside you?”’ 

‘“‘T shan’t be sick in heaven, mamma. Mina says 
angels never are sick. Good- “by ; — you will come, 
too, some time.’ 

A rapt smile played over the little, wan face, the 
blue eyes closed, and he slept, breathing gently. 
‘“‘Q, I cannot see him die!” cried Lucy, falling into 
insensibility. The poor, stricken mother was carried 
away from the death-bed to her own chamber. 

With blanched faces, the whole family gathered 
round the bedside. When those little eyes unclosed 
again, and the white lips parted once more, every 
breath was suspended to catch the faintest accents. 

‘‘ Dear, dear papa!’’ murmured the boy, as he 
saw his father’s pale face bending over him. The 
father imprinted one long last kiss upon his brow, 
and turned away in anguish. Uncle Ike wrung 
his brother’s hand, and cried, ‘‘O, my God, how 
gladly would I give my wealth to add a ve days to 
his precious life! ”’ 

Lauretta could not endure the scene, and went 


196 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


weeping from the room. Helen and Grace broke out 
into loud and bitter crying. 

“ Nellie, Gracie, don’t.cry. Mina says Jesus loves 
little children, and perhaps he will want you to- 
morrow,” said the dying child. ‘‘ Please, Mina, take 
me in your arms.”’ 

Clinton raised him from the pillow, and placed him 
in Elmina’s arms. With silent awe they gazed upon 
that face, where death’s mysterious, solemn seal was 
set. ‘‘Good-by, two dear cousins, I love so well ! — 
There are flowers there !”’ 

There was a slight quivering through that tiny 
frame, a faint sigh, and, painlessly, the spirit parted 
from the beautiful clay. 

‘Blessed are the early dead.” O, Bertie, thy 
life was one heautiful hour of love and happiness ! 
Now, in thy unsullied purity, thou art transplanted 
to celestial gardens, where bloom immortal flowers. 
‘Tt ig well with the child; it is well.” 

Methinks, if those who are wailing over the lovely 
temple, so lately enshrining the spirit, could look 
upon his rapwrous flight upward, they would rejoice, 
and say, ‘‘ It is well!”’ 


** Weep not for him — he was too pure 

For such a world as this ; 

No breath of guilt had dared to mar 
His spirit’s holiness. 

But, sinless as the golden flowers 

That yield their breath in tropic bowers, 

Or the bright gems that span the sky, 

His few but joyous years went by.’’ 


CHAPTER XxX. 


COMFORT. 


& 
Child-angel! O, a mission bright 
With thy sweet life has ended ; 
Sad are the hearts which thou didst light, 
And with thine own were biended, 
O, so tenderly ! 


“Do not bury him from my sight! Spare him to 
me a little longer! 0, Bertie, Bertic, shall I never 
hear your voice again ?”’ 

Lucy bent ever the little coffined form, moaning in 
tearless anguish. Very beautiful was Bertie in death. 
The flowers, which had been types of heaven to him, 
were scattered over his satin pillow, and one half- 
opened bud was laid upon his pulseless breast. His 
long, bright hair had been cut away, but a few golden 
rings lay about the lovely brow. The light of a 
heaven-born smile diffused a hely serenity over every 
lineament of his face. 

Beautiful, but soulless clay! that must moulder | 
back to its native element, while the pure spirit, once 
animating it, expands forever in the eternal light of 
heaven. It is not Bertie over which the mother 
bends in frenzied grief; it is only the fair garment 
which he wore for a little season, and has now thrown 
aside for one more perfect and enduring. 

But Lucy did not realize this. She felt that 

| (197) 


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198 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


blackness had shut out the sunlight from her life- 
path, and the cold winds of desolation swept over her 
sensitive heart. 

The religious services had been performed, and the 
attendants were ready to bear away the dead; still 
Tio clung to the coffin, crying, ‘‘ Let me have him 

a little longer! I cannot spare him yet!’’ 

Her husband’s arm supported her, but his own 
tears fell so bitterly that his influence made her still 
weaker and more unreconciled. Elmina stood by 
them. ‘‘ Dear aunt Lucy,” she said, beseechingly, 
‘‘look again on Bertie’s face. See the holy smile 
about his lips. Think upon the new life which he 
has entered. You know that he is happy now.’ 

‘Yes, he is happy, to be sure; but I can’t feel it 
—JI can’t realize it!” 

‘Bertie fully realized it. His last words were, 
‘There are flowers there.’ He was so. glad to go, 
you cannot wish him here again.” 

‘No, I ought not to wish him back again,” said 
Lucy, more calmly, and with a changing counte- 
nance. | 

‘‘ Perhaps his glorified spirit’is hovering over you 
now, trying to comfort you with the assurance that 
he is still near you, and loves you.” 

Lucy looked up suddenly, as though she expected 
to see the gleaming of angels’ wings above her head. 
She clasped her hands, crying, ‘‘ Bless you, Mina! 
your words are coming true to me — Bertie is here! ” 
Once more she embraced the little, still form, saying, 
‘Carry him away now, for I feel that Bertie’s sweet 
spirit is with me.” 

The star of resignation had pierced through the 
dark woe overshadowing her, and soon the Sun of 
Righteousness was to dissolve into sweet hopes every 
" vestige of darkness left. 


COMFORT. 199 


Grace had manifested little emotion, for she could 
not comprehend the mystery of death. But when 
they returned from the grave, she burst into passion- 
ate crying, saying that they had hidden Bertie in 
the ground, and she should never see him again. 

Elmina took her in her arms, and gently stroked 
her fair hair, whispering soothing words. Her touch 
was magnetic ; for soon the child’s sobs were hushed; 
the wet lashes rested upon her cheeks, and her soft, 
deep breathing proclaimed that her grief was forgot- 
ten in kindly slumber. 

Elmina thought, as she gazed upon the sleeping, 
child, ‘QO, if she could ever thus forget her griefs in 
innocent sleep! But years may bring sorrows which 
slumber cannot heal, and time only will rob of their 
sharp edge.’ | 

Grace awoke with a smile, so like that which had 
constituted the peculiar beauty of Bertie’s face, that 
Elmina tightened her clasp upon her, with a quick 
heart-throb of fear. 

‘‘Q, Mina, such a dream! I saw Bertie in a 
beautiful garden, and there were lots of little childrer. 
there. I thought they had buried him up in the 
ground; but I shan’t ery any more, if he is in such a 
pretty place.” 

Bertie’s mantle fell upon his little sister. She 
grew earnest, thoughtful, and spiritually minded; but 
her buoyant health and rapid physical growth were 
equal to her mental development. 

At night, after the different members of the family 
had retired to bed, Elmina sat alone in the parlor. 
Her strong spirit had supported her through days of 
watching and grief, but now she was completely 
exhausted and unnerved. She felt the need of that 
‘very comfort which ‘she had given to her afflicted 
friends. 


200 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


Those who have felt it know the unspeakable deso- 
lation resting upon the house from which the dead 
have just been borne. The startling stillness ! — the 
waves of woe, rolled back, leaving in the heart 
an aching void, more dreadful than the first rude 
shock ! 

Elmina felt all this with exquisite pain, and, before 
she was conscious of it, she was sobbing aloud. But 
a moment passed, and her head was raised and placed 
“upon a manly breast, and Clinton’s voice said in her 
ear, ‘‘ Brave, noble Mina! I did not half know you 
before. I do not wonder you are weak and dispirited 
now, after all your exertions. You have been an 
angel of hope and consolation to this desolated house- 
hold. Comfort yourself ‘with the thought that you 
have acted a noble part. I.feel that little Bertie’s 
death will not be in vain, for already my own heart is 
lifted upward, and God and heaven seem nearer.” 


Not in vain was Bertie’s short life — Q, not in 
vain was his untimely death! What holy affections 
had his smile and voice awakened! What wealth of 
hopes and tenderness had been poured upon his 
head! Living, he had bound many hearts to him 
in deathless love; and dying, he had drawn upward 
those hearts, with new hopes and higher aspirations. 

O, when. Bertie entered heaven, a ray of its eternal 
glory fell through the open portal! It brightens with 
a holy gleam the places where he has been, and nour- 
ishes in the mourners’ hearts a faith born of God! 


CHAPTER XX I. 
A WANDERER FOUND. 


JOSEPHINE Emery did not remove into uncle 
Ike’s new building, for that benevolent gentleman 
said she should no longer toil with her needle. A 
suite of rooms in a genteel quarter were furnished for 
her, and uncle Ike’s influence procured for her a 
small school, from wealthy families. ‘Thus she was 
placed above want, or wearing physical labor. 

Josephine was happy in the vocation which in her 
girlish days had been so congenial to her tastes and 
abilities. She entered upon her duties with cheerful 
ardor, and soon won the rans of the young girls 
intrusted to her charge. 

When Lucy had recovered in a measure from the 
stunning effects of her affliction, she called upon Jo- 
sephine, and invited her to dine with them the next 
day; for she was resolved to cultivate’ an intimate 
acquaintance with one about whom she had heard so 
many favorable reports. Josephine was touched by 
her unaffected cordiality, and accepted the invitation, 
knowing it would be very gratifying to Clinton and 
Elmina. @. 

Uncle Ike was always very courteous to the gentler 
sex, and on this occasion he treated Josephine with 
marked attentions. He drew her into conversation 
with himself, and led the way to subjects of a high 


order, such as are seldom introduced into the drawing- 
(201) 


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# 


a 


202 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


room. Elmina understood that he wished to sound 
the depths of her mind, as well as to learn the senti- 
ments of her heart; but she did not tremble for her 
friend, as she felt that she would fully stand his crit- 
ical test. 

When Josephine was introduced to Lauretta, she 
instantly recognized the lady for whom she had made 
the rich evening dress; but there was nothing in the 
unembarrassed ease with which she saluted her which 
would have awakened a suspicion that they had ever 
met before. She had the advantage of Lauretta, for 
the latter was mortified and confused. . 

As soon as she could, with propriety, the proud 
girl hurried away by herself. ‘‘ How mortifying!” 
she exclaimed. ‘‘ How could I know that that poor 
seamstress would turn out to be a favorite of uncle 
Ike’s — and so lady-like and well educated too! It 
is so provoking! and I owe her three dollars; but I 
shall never dare to pay her. Dear me, if uncle Ike 
should ever find it out!” 


Several months had passed peacefully away. Late 
one afternoon, Josephine called to see one of her 
pupils who had been detained from school on account 
of sickness. She found the child very ill, and was 
induced by the anxious mother to remain until night. 

When she turned her steps towards home, she saw 
that the street lamps were lighted. Somewhat startled, 
for she had never been out alone in the evening be- 
fore, she passed.on rapidly. A man stepped out from 
an alley agd followed her. She was slightly alarmed, 
for the aspect of the man was not prepossessing ; his 
eyes were hidden by a large, slouching hat, and the 
lower part of his face was covered with a thick growth 
of beard. She crossed the street, and he followed a 
few paces behind. Chiding herself for her foolish 


A WANDERER FOUND. 203 


nervousness, she stepped one side, that he might pass 
her; but, to her great alarm, he wheeled round before 
her, and grasped her arm, rudely. 

The light of a lamp fell full upon Josephine’s pale 
and agitated face. The stranger looked upon her in- 
tently for an instant, and said, in a hollow voice, ‘I 
thought it was you. O, J osephine ! ! Josephine !” 

Seeing her alarm, he relaxed his hold upon her 
arm, saying, ‘‘ Josie Lee, you see before you, your 
long-lost, miserable brother Guilbert.’’ 

With a cry, half of doubt, half of amazement, she 
looked upon the wretched being claiming to be her 
brother. 

‘You don’t know me,”’ said the man, wildly. ‘ In- 
deed, I am your ae Gilbert, and, if you have a 
home in the city, for mercy’s sake. take me to it 
quickly! I am a poor, hunted, houseless, hungry 
wretch !”’ 

‘“Q, my brother!” cried Josephine, weeping; 
“ thus to find you, after such a long separation! But 
come with me to my home.” 

In silence they threaded their way, until fen 
arrived at Josephine’s pleasant home. 

“Am I safe here, Josie? ”’ said Gilbert, peering 
suspiciously around the little parlor. 

. Josephine, who perceived that he was slightly in- 
toxicated, gently assured him that he was perfectly 
safe; then she hastened to prepare him supper, with- 
out asking any questions. 

She soon appeared in. the parlor again, bearing a 
waiter, with cold meat, bread, and hot tea. Gulbert 
swallowed a few mouthfuls, and then threw himself 
heavily upon the lounge. 

‘You are sick,” said J osephine, vainly struggling 
with her emotion. 

‘““T don’t know,’ groaned the miserable man ; 


204 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


‘‘T’ve not had an instant’s rest for more than a week. 
Let me sleep now.” 

The grieving, wondering sister placed a pillow 
beneath his head, and watched him while he fell into a 
deep slumber. Then she undressed her children, 
who were loudly calling for her, and laid them in 
their little bed. 

Once more she stood by her brother. O, God! 
could this man, with the traces of unbridled passions 
engraven deep upon his face, be the same fair boy 
whom she had called brother in childhood? It 


seemed impossible, and yet her heart told her it was’ * 


so. Now she remembered only his good qualities ; 
his affectionate temper, and pleasant ways. Her sis- 
terly love spoke eloquently in the tears which fell 
thickly upon the sick man’s face. 

Through what varied scenes had he passed since 
their sad parting? What errors had he ¢ommitted; 
how often had he needed his sister’s influence and 
love, to shield him from temptation? Had he com- 
mitted any actual crime, or were indolence and ine- 
briation his chief faults? These and many like 
queries crowded Josephine’s mind, as she watched 
over her fallen brother. 

The hours of that night seemed endless to her, as 
she sat, still watching by his side, until the gray dawn 
parted the curtain of night. ‘Towards morning, Gil- 
bert grew restless and feverish. He moaned in his 
sleep, and would often cry out, as if in fear or pain. 
When he awoke, he gazed about, vacantly. Josie 
spoke to him. 

‘‘Q, [ remember it all now!’’ he said, putting his 
hand to his head. 

Josephine kindly inquired if she should get him 
either medicine or food. No; he wanted nothing. 
Suddenly, he‘ started up, fearfully : ‘Am I safe 


A WANDERER FOUND. 205 


here ?”’ he said, eagerly ; ‘‘can I stay here, free from 
danger ?”’ 

oe Certainly, dear brother, replied Josephine, think- 
ing his mind wandered. ‘‘I have a pleasant home, 
and kind friends, who will rejoice with me that I have 
recovered my lost brother.” 

‘* Don’t tell anybody I am here; if you do, I must 
go away.” He tried to raise himself up, but fell 
back, weakly, upon his pillow. 

‘Gilbert, you are very sick ; let me call a doctor. 
T will do everything I can to make you well and 
happy again.’ 

“T won't have a Aone and, for mercy’s sake, 
don’t let anybody know I am here! I wish I could 
get up and go away. What if somebody should come 
in, and see me? Lock the door, Josephine quick !”’ 

Josephine grew sick at heart. 

‘Lock the door, I say! Do fasten the door! I 
can’t get up myself and do it.” 

She felt, now, that it was not the mere wanderings 

of a disordered mind which made him fearful. Could 
it be the goadings of a guilty conscience? She fast- 
ened the door, and he grew calmer. 
_ Josephine sat down by the couch, and took one 
fevered hand in hers. ‘‘ Dear Gilbert,” she said, in 
pleading tones, ‘‘ tell me the meaning of this. Surely, 
you are not afraid to confide in your sister?” 

“No, Josie, [am sure I can trust you. You were ' 
always kind and forgiving; but, when you know that 
I am a guilty wretch, will you still love and care 
for me?” 

‘““Q, Gilbert, what would affection be worth, if it 
could not live through danger, and even disgrace ? I 
implore you to tell me all, without reserve.’ 

The poor man turned ‘his head { BYay, He could 


206 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


not repeat his story, looking upon her pure face, or 
in the light of her tender eye. 

It was a sad tale of error and misfortune, which he 
poured into his sister’s ear. He told of his first 
voyage, so long and crowded with misfortunes; of his 


- unavailing regrets for his base ingratitude to his frier.ds, 


and of his wearing home-sickness, which embittered 
every moment. It was five years before he again 
trod America’s shores; and then he learned, for "the 


‘first time, that father, mother, and brother, were sleep- 


ing In the grave. In bitter, remorseful. anguish he 
wept over the green mounds concealing from his sight 
his wronged, but ever-loving parents. ‘The pale, 
deathly face of his father haunted him, and he felt 
that that father had gone down to the grave mourn- 
ing for him. He told of his yearning to see his dear 
sister then. He sought her out, and hung around 
Oakville several days, fearing, longing, and still 
dreading, to make himself known to her. He told 
of seeing her once, surrounded by a happy group of 
children, and he drew near enough to hear the tones 
of her voice. O, how he longed to fall at her feet, 
and beg for her love and forgiveness! But she passed 
him by, unconscious of his presence. Then he fell. 
upon the ground in despair. He knew that she was 
good and happy, and he ungrateful and unworthy. 


. He had ever been a source of grief and anxiety to 


her, and why should he recall to her mind all the sor- 
rows of the past by intruding himself upon her? 
He was sorrowful, even penitent: but he had no self- 
reliance, no strong determination to reform. And, 
feeling as he did that he could never become worthy 
of her love, he resolved to let her continue to remain 
in ignorance of his existence. 

Again he embarked on a long, uncertain voyage, 
caring little whither he went or what became of him. 


‘A WANDERER FOUND. 207 


At last he grew weary of his wandering, dissipated 
life, and, with a determination to become a : better man, 
he engaged himself to a wholesale flour-dealer in the 
city. Gilbert spoke of his weak struggle against his 
appetite for strong drink. But for that he might have 
been favored and respected by his employer. Now 
he grew restless and dissatisfied; he thought ‘f he 
had a little capital he might set up business for him- 
self in some country town. He confessed how this 
thought came again and again, until it became his 
strongest desire. He dreamed of finding money in 
the street, and from that starting a great fortune. 
One day a man handed him a roll of bank-bills to de- 
liver to his master. His first impulse was to take the 
money directly to the owner ; but it looked so tempt- 
ing in his hand that he stopped to count it. ‘' Five 
hundred dollars,” he said to himself; ‘‘ just the sum I 
want.” His evil genius whispered, Take it, take 
it; ’’ and he weakly, wickedly ) yielded to her fallacious 
promptings. 

_ He knew there would instantly be a search for him, 
and hid himself in some by-place, thinking discovery 
less likely than if he left the city for the open country. 

Then he began to repent of his wicked deed. OQ, 
how heartily he wished he had delivered the money 
to his master! He loathed it; he hated it now, and 
still he must conceal it about. his person for fear of 
detection. For more -than a week he had wandered 
about the city, stung with remorse, and writhing in 
fear. 

Josephine made no sound or motion when he fin- 
ished his story. ‘‘ You are horrified, Josie,” he said. 
‘“‘T knew you would be; but God is my witness that 
I never committed theft before. I have been idle and 
dissipated, but never criminal, only in deserting my 
poor dying father. . But now, O, now I am ruined 


208 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


forever! « There’s no use, now, for me to try to 
reform ! ” 

‘Gilbert, dear Gilbert, there is hope for you yet! 
You are truly repentant, and will commence a better 
life from this hour.” 

‘‘God in heaven knows how true my sorrow is; 
how I detest my past useless, miserable life. But it 
is too late; I am now stained with a crime.” 

‘You have not spent the money, brother; and 
if you return it, humbly begging forgiveness, I am 
sure that Mr. Jones will grant it. Then you will be 
relieved, and will expiate your error by your future 
good conduct.’’ 

‘ Josephine, if I should carry back the money, I 
should be in jail before an hour. Mr. Jones isa 
stern, relentless man. Once I saw him from one of 


my hiding-places, and I heard him cursing me with” 







cruel oaths. He said that he would find me, an 
should feel the whole force of the law. I heard so 
one say, ‘Perhaps he will repent, amd bring the 
money back.’ Jones laughed spitefully, and sai 
that no repentance would suit him; nothing short of 
a term in the penitentiary would answer the purpose. 
O, what can I do with this money, J osephine ? Take 
it from my sight — it burns my fingers.” 

Gilbert drew from his breast-pocket the fatal bills, 
and handed them to Josephine. She opened a drawer 
and placed the money safely within it, weeping si- 
lently ; but, when she turned round again, her tears 
were supplanted by a hopeful smile. 

It was now time for Josephine to prepare for her 
school; and, as Gilbert was much exhausted with his 
long conversation, “she advised him to try and sleep 
while she was gone. He would not let her go until 
she promised solemly to hide the fact of his being 


A WANDERER FOUND. » 909 


there. He even insisted upon her locking the parlor- 
door after her, and taking the key away. 

Poor Josephine performed her school duties in an 
abstracted, mechanical manner, and as soon as possi- 
ble returned to her unfortunate brother. She found 
him really sick. Exposure and anxiety had brought 
on a slow fever. She begged to be allowed to calla 
physician; but his morbid fears had increased so that 
he was frantic at the bare mention of the thing, and 
she could only soothe him with repeated promises of 


concealment. 
14 





OCA Pe ey oe Ne 
LOVE. — HOPE FOR THE FALLEN. 


Unote Ike desired Clinton to go on a business 
trip, which would take him several weeks from home, 
and the young man, happy to oblige his kind relative, 


cheerfully accepted the commission. The separation 


which he anticipated from his friends was so short, 
that he made his adieus lightly and gayly. He 
laughingly received the good-by kisses of Helen and 
Grace, and shook hands with Lucy and Lauretta. “i 
But, when he turned to Elmina, an,exquisite p 
shot through his heart. He did not press his lps to 
her pure brow with brotherly freedom, as had been 
his wont, for the vague, undefined emotions of his 
breast were in that instant revealed to him. The ex- 


pression of his eye thrilled Elmina :.her beautiful lip. 


trembled, and her eyelids dropped until their silken 
fringes rested on her cheeks, now bathed with tints, 
brighter than Atrora’s blush. No farewell words 
were spoken, but one mute pressure of the hand 
told all that language could not. They were no 
longer brother and sister, but united by a tie infinitely 
more precious. 

As Clinton was borne quickly away by the swift- 
winged steam-horse, a strange feeling of mingled as- 
surance and doubt made his heart turn backward 
with painful yearnings. He felt that Elmina was 

‘ | (210) 


se 
‘ 


LOVE. — HOPE FOR THE FALLEN. . 215 


his; still unsatisfied, he longed to hear the blessed 
assurance from her lips. 

When Clinton and Elmina met, after their long 
separation, which had brought them from childhood 
to the first years of their “maturity, they renewed 
their intercourse upon the old platform of brotherly 
and sisterly affection. No false timidity, or foolish 
trifling, cast a shadow upon the perfect confidence 


ore 


w 


existing between them; but the interchange of re- . 


fined thought and feeling daily brightened the link 
uniting them. Unconsciously a kindred germ, exist- 
ing in “the hearts of both, took reot in the deepest, 


. holiest soil; and, ere they were aware, young love, 


gently displacing fraternal affection, bloomed _ freshly 
and purely in each heart. 


‘¢Mina, cousin Mina!” cried Helen, with playful 
impatience. ‘“T have asked you twice ‘to look at my 


ue: »Have I shaded this castle right, and will 
ho 


you show me how to make the pretty shadows in the 
water ?”’ . 

‘Certainly, my dear; I think you have drawn it 
very nicely.” 

‘ But, you haven’t looked at it yet,” said Helen, 
half vexed; ‘‘ you are looking straight at that little 
blue flower in the carpet.”’ 

Grace laughed merrily. “ I guess cousin is asleep 
with her eyes wide open, for she don’t mind a word 
you sa 

4 Asleep ! ’? Elmina started, with a high color. 
‘‘ No, not asleep, only thinking very busily. Give 
me your pencil, Nellie, and I will help you.” 
With an effort, Elmina threw off the delicious revery 


which had momentarily stolen all her faculties. Ono 
glance at the pencilled castle on Helen’s paper dis- 


solved the giitienng dream-castles with which fancy 


~ 


212 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 

had just peopled her mental world. A single touch 
of reality sent imagination into the background, 
silent and abashed. 

When the children had finished their lessons El- 
mina endeavored to engage her mind with books or 
work, but to no purpose. A sweet unrest possessed 
her. <A length she threw on her bonnet, telling her 
aunt Lucy that she would go and spend an hour with 
Josephine Emery. 

She rung twice before Josephine’s little maid ap- 
peared, and then. the girl seemed to Hearn about 
admitting her. She said both “‘ yes’ and ‘‘no”’ to 
Elmina’s inquiry as to whether her inet dig was at 
home, and with a very red face showed her into the 
dining-room. Little Josie and Willie were playing 
together very sweetly. Hlmina chatted with them a 
moment, and then asked for their mamma. Josie 
pointed ‘significantly to the parlor-door, which was 
slightly ajar. A feeble voice could be plainly heard 
murmuring confusedly and impatiently. 

Josephine appeared at the door. Her careworn face 
lighted with a smile of pleasure, as she advanced 
quickly and grasped Elmina’s hand. 

‘‘Dear Josephine, you look very weary. Whom have 


you here that is sick ?’’ 


‘“My poor brother Gilbert, whose sad story you 
have shih heard. He came here day betore yester- 
day, completely prostrated with fever, and is now 
seriously sick.” 

Elmina’s face expressed her sympathy; but she 
asked none of the questions which rose to her mind, 
for the quivering lip and glistening eye of her friend 
warned her. 

“You must have a nurse, Josie, for you can’t keep 
school and take care of a sick man too. I have half 
a mind to chide you for not sending for me to help 


LOVE. — HOPE FOR THE FALLEN. 243 


you, as well as. to rejoice in the Leroy of your 
long-lost brother.” 

‘OQ; Mina, how gladly would I have done so! But 
Gilbert has committed a great error, and is fearful of 
discovery. Heis perfectly frenzied at the thought of 
my sending for a doctor, and has made me promise, 
again and again, to conceal his presence here. But, as 
you heard his voice, I thought it was but justice to 
myself that I should explain.” 


Elmina looked thoughtful as she understood the 


unpleasant position of her friend, and for a time they 
sat in silence. Elmina feared Josephine would be- 
come ill with over-exertion, and at length persuaded 
her to lie down for a few hours. She promised to 


take care of the patient until night. There was no. 


difficulty in this arrangement, as Gilbert was slightly 
delirious, and did not perceive the change. 

Elmina now made it a point to spend the hours 
usually devoted to recreation, in assisting Josephine 
in her manifold duties. And for several days Gilbert 
knew not that any but his sister’s hand administered 
the healing draught or bathed his burning temples. 
One morning he awoke with new strength in all his 
limbs, and coolness in every vein. He had a dim, 


con fase -regollection of hours of feverish pain, but 
knew. not Ha of the long and tender watchings by 
his pillow. ‘He saw Josephine dress for the street, 


and then Elmina’s radiant face supplied the place of 
her anxious’ one by his bedside. 

‘‘So my sister has betrayed me!” said Gilbert, in 
a trembling voice. 

Elmina kindly assured him to the contrary, and 
that his secret was perfectly safe with her. He 
looked relieved, but still made her reiterate again her 
promise of secrecy. When he had become accus- 
tomed to her presence, she read a short and appro- 


« 
~ 
¥ 


914. THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


priate chapter from the Bible. The holy words fell 


- upon a contrite heart, and the low, sweet voice which 


uttered them invested them with strange power. His 
eyes were filled with tears when she concluded, and 
he thanked her in a broken voice. She had gained 
his whole confidence, and on the morrow he was 
strong enough to confess to her the story of his errors. 
Like Josephine, she spoke hopefully, even confidently, 
of his future course. She assured him that the past 
would be forgiven and forgotten if he would re- 
linquish all his bad ways. Poor Gilbert listened half- 
doubting, half-believing. Her words had more 
weight with him than Josephine’s, for he thought 
that the sisterly love of the latter caused her to over- 
rate his power to overcome his bad habits. Worthy 
resolves grew up in that wayward heart, beneath El- 
mina’s influence; and the angel of Repentance was 
crowned with the wreath of Hope. 

Lucy playfully accused Elmina of being dissipated, 
as she had been to the opera with Mr. Arlington, and 
went out calling every day. The little lady had set 
her heart upon making a match between Clinton and 
Elmina, and was quite vexed because of Mr. Arling- 
ton’s marked attentions to her niece. She was full of 
wonderment as to what lead Elmina from home so 
regularly every day. Still our heroinexkept her’ se- 
cret inviolate, and no one in the family had the 
remotest suspicions of the real facts. 


Gilbert Lee had fully recovered from his illness. 
One bright day he sat with Josephine and Elmina in 
the little parlor which had been the scene of his suf- 
ferings and repentance. ‘The flush of returning health 
tinged his pale cheek, and his eyes burned with a 
clear and steady light. He was in truth a fine-look- 
ing man, with his shining brown hair, and broad, fair 


LOVE. — HOPE FOR THE FALLEN. 215 


brow. Buta phrenologist would have said he lacked 
firmness and self-esteem, and that the delicate curve 
of his under lip indicated effeminacy and indecision 
of character. 

After thanking his sister and Elmina for their kind 
care of him, he said, ‘Tf it were not for that unfor- 
tunate money, still upon my hands, I might, in a 


distant state, earn a new name and a good reputation ; | 
but that clings to me like a curse.’ es 


* Gilbert, I beseech you to take it back to Mr. 
Jones,’ ’ said J osephine. 

P Yes, I beg you to do so,” said Elmina. ‘‘I dare 
say Mr. ‘Jones will readily grant you his forgiveness, 
and then you will feel greatly relieved.” 

‘‘The money must be placed in his possession, but 


I dare not carry it myself. I have no faith in his* 


forbearance. He isa hard, unyielding man, and would 
‘not rest until the law should punish me. I deserve 
severe punishment, I know; and have I not suffered, 
and am I not still suffering, the penalty of my 
crime? OQ, the days and nights of misery since that 
fatal deed ! ”’ 

Elmina’s face brightened with a happy thought. 
‘‘T have it,” she cried. ‘Let me confide your story 
to Mr. Ike Lincoln. He is one of the kindest and 
most benevolent of men. I can almost pledge my 
word that’ he will deliver the bills to the flour-dealer, 
and induce him to overlook your error.’ 

“OQ, do, dear Gilbert, consent to this!” said 
Josephine, ‘eagerly. “T have perfect confidence in 
~ Mr. Lincoln.” 

“No, no,” said Gilbert; ‘‘I cannot consent. No 

man would look upon my sin as leniently as you two 
generous ones do. You cannot judge others by your- 
selves. Mr. Lincoln would doubtless reproach you 


for harboring such an unworthy man, and would 


216 _ THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


deem it his duty to deliver me into the hands of 
justice.’’/ 

“You wrong Mr. Lincoln,” said Josephine, sadly. 
‘‘Can we not persuade you, dear brother?” 

Gilbert shook his head slowly. His companions 
perceived that his morbid fears would never permit 
them to carry out sucha plan. After a thoughtful 
silence, Elmina spoke: ‘‘ ‘Trust me with the money, 
and I will deliver it safely to Mr. Jones.” 

‘‘ But what if he should command you to tell him 
where lam?” 

“T should not tell him,” replied Elmina, with 
decision. ‘‘ And, more than that, I will obtain his 
word of honor never to molest you.” 

‘Dear Miss Clement! but he may deny you.” 

“Tam sure he will not,’ cried Elmina. ‘‘I feel 
confident that I can serve you better than any other 
in this matter. Will you trust me?”’ 

‘Trust. you? O, Miss Clement, with my whole 
heart! And, if you succeed, I promise you, by all 
my faith in God, and hope of heaven, to henceforth 
lead a useful and virtuous life! ”’ 


CHAPTER XXIII. 
ELMINA’S MISSION. 


In a small and dingy counting-room sat two men 
in close conversation. One was a white-haired, pleas- 
ant-looking old gentleman, the other was in the 
meridian of life. The latter was a short, thick-set 
person, with a morose, unpleasant countenance, and a 
heavy, lifeless manner. Avarice and stubborn firm- 
hess were written in the strong lines about his mouth. 
His companion was evidently a person of some con- 
sequence, for he treated him with cringing civility, 
meanwhile trying to lure him into an unwise bargain. 

A little Irish boy thrust his head through the door- 
way, and then looked back with a quizzical glance., 
“‘ What do you want?” gruffly demanded his master. 

‘‘ Plase, sir, a lady wants to see you.”’ 

“A lady!” said the man, rising, in awkward sur- 
prise, just in time to bow to the female, who entered 
unbidden. ‘The lady was young and dressed gen- 
teelly; and when she threw back her veil, disclosing 
a face of surpassing sweetness, the proprietor politely 
handed her a chair. ‘‘To what circumstance am I 
indebted for this visit?” he said, with an attempt at 
being agreeable. 

The color deepened on Elmina’s face (the reader 
has doubtless recognized our heroine) as she timidly 
replied: ‘‘ I have come on a somewhat singular errand, 
but I will speak to the point directly, without apoE 

(217) 


218 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


You had in your employ, a short time ago, a man by 
the name of Gilbert Lee?” 

“Do you know anything of him?” asked Mr. 
J ones eagerly, a frown. lowering his brows. 

t is for him I came to see you.” 

“The thieving scoundrel! where is he, and where 
are my five hundred dollars? Can you give me any 
information concerning him? IL have offered a reward 
for his discovery.”’ 

Elmina’s lip curled slightly with the scorn she 
could not repress. All her timidity vanished, and 
she fixed her dark eyes fully upon Mr. Jones. She 
related her story in a dignified and unembarrassed 
manner. “Gilbert Lee retained your money unlaw- 
fully ; it was very sinful: but remember it was his 
first theft. He repented very soon, but did not dare 
to throw himself upon your mercy, for he knew you 
were making strict search for him, and had declared 
revenge. For a week he skulked about the streets, 
the most miserable of men. Shame, fear, and expos- 
ure combined to bring on a fever, and for many days 
he lay near death’s door; but, under God’s provi- 
dence, he has recovered. I think he has repented 
truly and sincerely. He has vowed to live a strictly 
moral life, and become a useful man. I firmly believe 
he will keep his vow, if you will but grant him your 
forgiveness, and will never accuse him of his crime.’ 

Mr. Jones listened with undisguised displeasure. 
‘You have got up quite an affecting story,” he said 
insultingly. ‘And so you think I can afford to lose 
five hundred dollars, and let the rascal go unpunished 
into the bargain ? ”’ 

‘“‘ Not so; the unfortunate man felt such compunc- 
tion for his sin that he could not spend a cent of the 
stolen money. He has sent it to you by me, as the 
most tangible evidence of his repentance.”’ 


‘ 
ELMINA’S MISSION. 219 


Mr. Jones took the money with a somewhat molli- 
fied air, ‘‘It is all right,” he said, with a grim 
smile of satisfaction, after carefully counting it. 

‘You will be content now, sir, and let the poor 
man go free?” asked Elmina anxiously. 

‘“‘T have not said that. It 1s against my principles 
to let a thief remain loose upon the world’ 

‘‘ But, sir, this is his first theft, and I believe will 
be his last. I beseech you to spare him; he may yet 
be a useful man. But if he goes to prison he will 
lose all self-respect, and will feel ruined for life.”’ 

*“*Who are you that pleads so strongly in behalf 
of this unfortunate man, as you call him? Are you 
his sister; or perhaps his sweetheart ?”’ 

‘‘Theregis no tie that binds me to Gilbert Lee, 
save that ef our common brotherhood,” said Elmina, 
as she rose with dignified composure. 

“T will not detain you,” said Mr. Jones. ‘Of 
course I cannot compel-you te betray your friend, 
nor need I premise te give up my search for him.” 

‘“‘T promised Gilbert Lee that I would obtain your 
pledge never te molest him; so that he might walk 
the earth free from haunting fears. My mission will 
be unfulfilled, nor can I go content, until I gain that 
pledge.” 

‘Hor shame, man!’ cried the old gentleman, 
sharply. ‘If this fellow were ten times over a 
villain I would forgive him for the sake of the sweet 
lady who pleads for him. And she is right, — bless 
her fair face! If there is any manhood in you, 
promise what she desires, and let her leave this unfit 
place.” 

Mr. Jones was quite taken aback, and looked at 
the old gentleman in blank amazement. He who 
reproved him was very rich and influential. It would 
not do to displease him; so, smothering his anger, he 


Ae 


7 
220 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


said to Elmina, ‘‘ Well, well, miss; it shall be as 
you wish.” - : naga 

‘You pledge me your word of honor that you will - 
not arrest Gilbert Lee should you ever discover 
him ?”’ 

a4 Yes. yr) , 

‘And this gentleman will be your witness ?’’ con- 
tinued Elmina. 

“* Certainly — don’t fear ; he shall keep his pledge,”’ 
said the gentleman, kindly offering his arm. ‘ Let 
me wait upon you down the narrow, dusty stairs.”’ 

Elmina thanked him with a smile. 

Clinton had that day returned, and, though El- 
mina was impatient to enjoy his company, she went 
directly to Gilbert Lee to announce ber success. We 
will not dwell upon the affecting interview between. 
the brother and sister and she who had been like an 
angel to them in her delicate, considerate kindness. 
On the morrow Gilbert was to leave the city, and in 
the far West to carve out a good name and a fortune. 
There was so much to be said on all sides that it was 
quite night before Hlmina could tear herself away ; 
then Gilbert offered to escort her home, and she 
proudly accepted the arm of the now redeemed and 
hopeful man. On the way, she breathed into his ear 
pure and invaluable advice, which he never forgot or 
neglected. As they stood upon the marble steps 
before Mr. Lincoln’s door, Elmina slipped a small 
packet into his hand, saying, ‘‘ Take this trifling sum; 
it may serve you till you earn more. When you 
wish to repay me, give it to some poor brother as 
unfortunate and needy as you now are. Farewell, 
and may happiness and prosperity attend you.” 

Gilbert was overcome with conflicting feelings. 
He wrung her hand with passionate fervor. ‘I 
— accept it,”’ he said, ‘‘for I could refuse nothing given 


ad 


ELMINA’S MISSION. ey yh 


by you. I cannot express my deep, undying grati- 
tude to you. May you enjoy every pure pleasure 
known to moftals, and may God hold you in his 
tenderest keeping! Farewell! While I have life 
and memory, your name will be dearest in my heart.’’ 

He turned away, and Elmina, much affected, 
passed into the house. 

Clinton had grown impatient at Elmina’s long 
absence, and had sallied forth in search of her. He 
saw her coming with a gentleman, and stepped one 
side that they might pass him. He saw they stood a 
moment in earnest conference, and, though he could 
not distinguish their words, he heard Gilbert’s impas- 
siened tones. 

-A jealous pang shot through his heart. ‘‘ How 
like lovers they seem!” he muttered. ‘‘I wonder if 
that was Arlington?” 


At breakfast Clinton was very unlike his cheerful, 
companionable self. He ate nothing, and played 
absently with his coffee. Lucy rallied him upon his 
forlorn appearance, but she could not make him relax 
into a smile. Suddenly he gave his coffee a vigorous 
stirring, ‘and then swallowed it at a draught. 

“Uncle Ike, [ am going to Saratoga,” he broke 
out at length. 

‘To Saratoga in November ?”’ 

“No; I meant that 1 am going to the White 
Mountains.”’ ‘ et 

Lucy burst into a merry laugh. — ‘‘ Clint, I verily 
believe you are crazy! The White Mountains would 
be charming in winter! Come now, act like your- 
self, and don’t talk of going away again. We can’t 
spare you.” — 

‘ Clinton colored with the consciousness that he had 
made himself ridiculous ; still he persisted in saying 


® 


bi Mpeys THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


he should leave New York. He was tired of the 
city, and meant to spend the winter in Massachusetts. 
In spite of the opposition of his friends, he made his 
adieus immediately. Uncle Ike laughed j in the midst 
of his vexation, and said he had no doubt that the 
wilful boy would be back shortly. 


Elmina’s pillow was moistened with a few quiet 
tears that night, for she felt wounded at Clinton’s | 
abrupt departure; but she soon slept peacefully as a 
child. 

Alone, in the privacy of her apartment, Lauretta 
bowed her head in strong anguish. Beneath her cold 
exterior were volcanic fires threatening to deluge her 
undisciplined heart with the scathing lava of selfish 
passions. , ‘Lauretta, save thyself from wiles 
ere it be too late ! 


CHAPTER. XX 1T¥:. 


OUR HERO BROUGHT TO HIS SENSES. 


«New York, June 3, 18—. 


“DEAR Crint: I am thoroughly out of patience 
with you for rambling all over the country in such’ a 
foolish and. unsatisfactor y manner, when we are all 
in a fever to have you come home. Nearly six 
months have passed since you took your abrupt 
departure, and in that time I have had only half 
a dozen letters from you, and those even short and 
lifeless. What made you leave us so suddenly, and 
why you remain away, I cannot conceive. If you 


have any real trouble oppressing you, who would be |. 


more willing to relieve you than your doting uncle? 
And, if it is nothing but a protracted fit of the blues, 
I insist upon: your immeédiate return. Do come home, 
dear nephew; I am longing to see you, as are all the 
rest of us. Lauretta droops, and your name brings a 
blush and a sigh. Hlmina seldom speaks of you, 
,though I fancy she thinks of you often. She has 
changed since you left; her cheek is paler, and her 
smile less frequent. Though she is cheerful as ever, 
she cannot conceal from me her inward disquiet. 
Clint, have you done aught to grieve our Mina? Is 
there not a little quarrel or misunderstanding to atone 


for? Once I thought you loved her, and that she 


responded to your Jove. What is it that has come 


between you? Ido hate this mystery. 
| (228) 


k. 
™~, 


224 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. | 


‘Don’t answer this letter except by your much- 
desired presence. We are sad and lonely without 
you, and feel little Bertie’s death more painfully when 
you are away. I count the days before your return. 

‘‘ From your ever affectionate 
“UncLE Ix.” 


Clinton threw down the letter with an exclamation 
of self-reproach. ‘‘ How foolish, how impetuous I 
have been! and yet how kindly uncle Ike writes to 
his unworthy nephew. Elmina’s roses fading, and 
her bright smile dimmed, and I the cause! Hlmina, 
dearest, best, if I have wounded you, I will a thou- 
sand times atone for it! How much stronger and 
better I feel,—and but a moment ago I felt quite: 
languid! Ah, I always jumped at a conclusion! 
But Lauretta’s testimony —can it be that she de- 
ceived me? I will find out, anyway. ‘The shortest 
possible time shall take me to my good uncle and all 

the dear ones of our home circle.” 


Mr. Lincoln had recently purchased a residence eight 
miles from the city, and thither the family removed 
when flowery June trod in the fragrant footsteps of 
departed May. As soon as they were fairly domes- 
ticated, their city friends were invited to come and 
dedicate their new home. It was truly a social party, 
entirely free from parade or artificial display. Spark- 
ling eyes flashed in the brilliant light, and beaming 
smiles shone on every face. Sweeter than sweetest 
music was the gushing laughter ringing out on the 
balmy air, and joy’s melodious voice woke echoes in 
every breast. : 

_ Lucy Lincoln moved among her guests with un- 
affected grace. She yielded herself to the inspirating 
influence of mirth; she sought out every silent or 


” 


OUR HERO BROUGHT TO HIS SENSES. 925 


unoccupied one, and drew them into the merriest cir- 
cle. Once she would have entered into the gayeties 
of such a scene with her whole heart; but now that 
heart had hallowed one recess with beautiful memo- 
ries, and Bertie was the magic word which shut out 
worldly thoughts. The mission of sorrow had been 
to add a womanly dignity and thoughtfulness to the 
sweet simplicity of her character. If her smile was 
less frequent than before she had tasted affliction, it 
was more tender and expressive. 

Elmina could not enter into the feelings of those 
around her. The laughter and music struck discord- 
antly upon her ear, and delicate compliment and ready 
wit failed to call forth her powers of repartee. She 
was sad at heart, and the presence of gayety was dis- 
tasteful to her. At the first opportunity she stole 
away by herself, and stood and mused upon the pi-. 
azza, until the soft breath of evening seemed to fan 
away her disquiet. A figure advanced slowly up the 
flower-edged path; her heart bounded, as she recog- 
nized the object of her thoughts ; it was Clinton. 
She was outwardly composed when he reached her 
side, though her face. was glowing with feeling. After 
their first salutations, they stood silently together. 
Often, when we have most to say, we say the least. 
The silence grew painful, and Elmina felt a bashful 
timidity, which she had never before experienced by 
the side of Clinton. She persuaded him to enter the 
house, and have his arrival made known to the family 
and guests. 

Clinton’s appearance was hailed with great pleas- 
ure. Uncle Ike was almost beside himself with joy. 
Though the young man was disappomted in finding 
the house full of company, for the sake of his friends, 
he entered into the gay circle. 

; 15 


226 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. , 

‘Clinton, your old friend and employer, Mr Gay, 
is here, with his daughter.”’ 

Clinton’s countenance brightened. ‘ ae I ‘see 
them in the music-room. I will go to them instantly.” 

Old Mr. Gay was delighted to see his former young 
clerk, and the blushes and dimples which spread over 
Fannie’s face bespoke her pleasure. An hour was 
spent in recounting old times and inquiries for old 
friends. A little later in the evening Elmina and 
Fannie Gay were together, mutually pleased with 
each other. Fannie begged leave to present Elmina 
to her father, and led her to the old gentleman. She 
instantly recornized him who had joined her cause 
as she pleaded for Gilbert Lee, in the flour-dealer’s 
counting-room. ‘The recognition was mutual. Mr. 
Gay looked upon her varying face with admiring ap- 
proval. 

‘¢ Brave girl!’ he whispered, as he held her hands; 
and then, as he patsed along with his daughter, he 
turned to uncle Ike, and related the story of his first 
meeting with our hereine. Uncle Ike’s kind eye 
filled, and a proud smile broke over his face. ‘‘ Just 
what I should expect from her,’ he said. ‘‘ She is the 
most selfsacrificing girl I ever knew.” 

Once, when Elmina was chatting with Mr. Arling- 
ton, she felt Clinton’s glance upon her. He was 
leaning against the marble mantle, at the further end 
of the room. She was quite startled at the reproach 
speaking in his eye, and his melancholy aspect.’ She 
observed that he was thin, and looked more than half 
ill. ‘‘Clint’s wandering life has worn upon him,” 
she thought; ‘‘he needs rest and quiet.” She, drew 
near him, in order to dissipate his sadness by her 
cheerful sallies. Lauretta joined them, and, against 
the battery of their united charms, Clinton grew 
companionable, and outwardly cheerful again. 


OUR HERO BROUGHT TO HIS SENSES. BT 


A momentary shadow rested upon Fannie Gay, as 
she beheld Clinton between these two beautiful girls. 
‘* But what a foolish child I am!” she said to her- 
self. ‘Clinton Forrest is nothing to me.”? Mr. 
Arlington drew her into a téte-a-téte, and she soon 
forgot everything but his fascinating conversation. 

Mr. Arlington loved Elmina, but he knew his love 
to be unreturned. Though wounded, he could not 
reproach her, and, like a true man, he endeavored to 
overcome his disappointment. He fancied Fannie 
Gay resembled Elmina in manners and disposition, 
and he felt a pleasure in her society, which soothed 
the pain Elmina gave him, now he knew she could 
never be his. 

The night waned, and the guests retired; there 
was empty silence where mirth and gayety had reigned 
supreme. Elmina passed through the vacant drawing- 
rooms and entered the library to get a favorite book, 
which she wished to carry to her chamber. She was 
surprised by seeing Clinton sitting there alone. 

‘Are you up still? I thought you had retired, 
Clinton.” 

‘Tam glad you have come, Mina,” he said, in a 
monotonous tone, nich at variance with the strong 
agitation written on his countenance. ‘1 cannot 
rest until I have unburdened my mind.’’ 

With a cordial smile, she unhesitatingly sat down 
by his side. 

‘Mina, it is for you to make me the happiest or 
most miserable of men. Hear my story. When I 
was a forlorn child your angel ways awoke the first 
affection in my heart. I loved you worshippingly,. 
for you seemed infinitely above me; but, as we grew 
older, and we lived so much like brother and sister, 
you grew nearer and dearer tome. You gave mea 
sister's love, but I loved you for father, mother, 


228 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


brother, sister — you were all the world tome! That 
boyish affection is now lost in a deeper, more enduring 
love. I feel what language cannot express. Elmina, 
do you love me?” 

Her voice trembled slightly, but there was a rip- 
pling sweetness in its tones, as she replied, “‘ Clinton, 
you know that I love you!” 

‘Yes, I know you feel a friendly interest in my 
welfare; but is your love like mine? Do you re- 
member that cousin Bertie’s last farewell was to the 
‘two dear cousins he loved’? He spoke of us to- 
gether, as though the intuitions of his soul told him 
our spirits were united, and that our names and des- 
tinies would likewise be one. O, Elmina, is it not 
thus ; shall it not be so?” 

‘“Yes,” she whispered, ‘‘I am yours, only yours !” 


CHAPTER XXV. 


HAPPINESS. —LAURETTA’S PRIDE. 


‘< Terrestrial love is like the chameleon ; it takes the colors of 
the heart on which it creeps.’’ 


Own the morrow Clinton went to the city, and when 
he returned, at night, he brought a letter for Elmina, 
from Gilbert Lee. It had been enclosed in one for 
Josephine.. It was written in such a grateful, happy 
spirit, that we cannot forbear to give it a place on our 
pages. ‘Thus it ran: 


“DEAR Miss CrementT: Would it give you 
pleasure to hear from the erring, desponding man 
whom you rescued from destruction, and sent away, 
strong in new hope and courage? I pray for you 
night and morning; and, if the prayers of one so 
unworthy could be granted, you would be blessed 
indeed ! , 

‘‘T came directly to M , and found respectable 
employment and good pay; and, what is far better, I 
found good friends. - If I am blessed with ‘health, in 
a year I shall be able to furnish me a little home, and 
QO, there is such a dear one to make that home happy ! 
She whom I love is a poor girl, and not very well 
educated, to be sure; but she is modest and gentle. 
Her heart is full of kindness, and — and she loves me! 
I have told her the whole story of my life, and still she 


trusts me, and says she will marry me, if I continue 
: (229) 





230 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


sober and industrious one little year. I have told her 
of my deep, reverential, almost worshipping affection 
for you, and she is not jealous, but says she would give 
the world to see you. Isn’t that beautiful, and isn’t 
she a dear, kind girl? O, Iam so happy ; and to 
you I owe everything! I have foresworn the wine- 
cup, gambling, and everything which leads. to idleness 
and dissipation. ‘Industry and sobriety’ is my 
motto. All the good I may do, and all the happiness 
I enjoy, I ascribe to your exceeding goodness and 
consideration. May you be as blessed as you deserve 
tobe. I can say nothing more. 
 Joyfully, gratefully, I am yours, 
“GILBERT LEE.” 


Elmina’s eyes swam in tears, as she handed the 
letter to Clinton, who read it, and then returned it, 
with a look of affectionate admiration. 

‘‘T understand the whole story of it,” he said: 
‘« Josephine Emery has told me all. I thought I knew 
you, but I did not; I did not know the true beauty 
and strength of your character. And now, Elmina, 
when I deserve it least, when I am entirely unworthy 
of your precious love, you~ grant me the priceless 
boon. How can I repay you, except by a life of de- 
votion to your happiness?” . 

She placed her hand trustingly in his. ‘If I 
thought you unworthy,’”’ she said, ‘‘my love would 
never have been given. And what need I, in return, 
- save your strong arm and manly heart to lean upon 
through all life’s trials ?”’ 

‘Which you shall ever have, beloved Elmina! ” 
cried Clinton, fervently. ‘“‘I will be your protector 
and support; you, my guide and star! As I cherish 
and make you happy, so may God bless and prosper — 
me ! me 


HAPPINESS. — LAURETTA’S PRIDE. 231 


‘Now I must explain a little to you, else you will 
think me wilfully capricious, when impetuous haste 
was my greatest fault. Mina, I thought I loved you 
as a very dear sister; I had not sounded the depths 
of my own heart until I came to say ‘ good-by’ to 
you, before leaving home last summer to do some 
business for uncle Ike. Then, in an instant, the 
beautiful fact was revealed to my mind, and I fancied 
I read the response in youragitated manner. O, how 
impatient I was to get back to your side! I slept to 
dream of you; and, waking, your dear image was ever 
before me. When I returned I determined to tell you 
of my love immediately, before another could win 
your coveted affections. On the very day of my 
arrival you went out directly after dinner, and did 
not return until evening. I was a little mortified, but 
could have borne it quite well, had not aunt Lucy 
tried to make me jealous. She told of Mr. Ar- 
lington’s very flattering attentions to you,. and de- 
clared that, if he had not already proposed, he would 
do so very soon. I knew, by the roguery in her eye, 
and her low, tickling laugh, that she had guessed my 
secret, and enjoyed my too evident discomfort. ‘ Still 
_ there, may be a little chance for you, Clint, if you are 
only quick enough,’ she said in her peculiarly be- 
witching way, and then went off, singing a provoking 
love-song. 

‘‘'Then Lauretta came to my side, and said she had 
a little secret to tell me, which I must not reveal, ag 
it was not her own secret. Mrs. Lincoln didn’t 
know it, not even uncle Ike, but Elmina had confided 
everything to her. ‘Arlington had proposed, and 
Elmina had accepted!’ ©, Mina, those words were 
barbed arrows to my heart. She went on to say that 
as it was so sudden an engagement, you wished to 


Dae, THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


keep it secret a few weeks, and on no account must I 
breathe a word of it. 

‘““T was greatly afflicted, but still hoped it might be 
a mistake. When it grew dark I went eut, hoping to 
find you in the street. I met you with a person 
whom I fancied to be Arlington. I did not under- 
stand the conversation between you, but I thought the 
tones very lover-like. I passed a long and dismal 
night, and arose unrefreshed. Lauretta was first in 
the breakfast-room. 

‘“¢ Lauretta,’ I said, earnestly, ‘can you vouch for 
the truth of all you told me concerning Arlington 
and—and Elmina? Are you sure it is so?’ 

‘‘ With a proud, half-offended look, she assure 
me it was just as she had said. I had only time to 
apologize for my question, when the family came in 
to breakfast. I was half-distracted with disappoint- 
ment and jealousy. I had lost the prize for which I 
would have staked everything I possessed. You, 
whom I loved with the most ardent affection, was the 
promised bride of another. I could not stay a day in 
your presence, and hurried away, my mind in a 
whirlwind of excitement. I never dreamed of re- 
proaching you—I only blamed my own blindness 
and backwardness. Uncle Ike’s letter brought me to 
my senses, and I have’ come back with the same pre- 
cipitancy with which I left. Now I am so light of 
heart that I cannot realize that I have spent near six 
wretched months. Elmina, can you forgive the pain 
Thave occasioned you? Can you forgive my headlong 
haste? Will you still love me with all my faults?” 

Clinton was more than satisfied with the trusting 
smile which answered him. Buta grave look came in- 
stantly, as she said, ‘“‘ How ashamed Lauretta must feel 
when she knows that we have discovered her false- 
hood ! ” 


HAPPINESS. —— LAURETTA’S PRIDE. 933 


*“T knew Lauretta was proud and selfish, but I 
thought that she was honorable. A woman who 
sullies her lips with a falsehood, is despicable !’’ said 
Clinton, indignantly. ‘What possible motive could 
she have had, Mina?” 

Elmina’s cheek took a brighter, richer tinge, and 
she looked up archly, but without replying. 

‘“‘ Poor girl!’ she said, after a moment’s pause, 
‘* she must be very miserable.” 


‘ Miserable! ”’? repeated Clinton, ‘“‘ how ashamed, 
how disgraced she must feel! I scorn the intriguing 
girl.” 


‘‘Nay, pity her instead. Let us never expose or 
reproach her, but treat her as we have ever done. 
She will suffer enough without our adding a single 
pang.”’ 

‘‘ Your generosity exceeds mine, but for your sake 
I will do as you wish. Happy would it be for Lau- 
retta Fay, if she should copy some ef your virtues. 
I recollect that your father thought that your mother 
was almost perfect; and she was, indeed, one of the 
noblest and loveliest of women; but you bid fair to 
surpass her, though you are very like her.’’ 

“J surpass my mother! O, Clint, don’t praise 
me! If there is anything beautiful or consistent in 
my character, any virtue worthy to be copied, it is 
hers. While she lived, her hand led me, her voice 
guided me; and, since she became an angel, the mem- 
ory of her spotless life and elevated principles has 
daily grown brighter in my heart. I believe she is 
my guardian angel, for I often feel her spirit-presence 
in my inmost soul.”’ 

. QO, Elmina,” said Clinton, caressing her with an 
overflowing heart, ‘‘ with you for my life-companion, 
who have an angel-guide, I should walk in a higher 
and better path than I have even yet trod. ‘Together 


f 


234 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


we will seek to attain that high spiritual life, which 
will overcome earth’s strongest trials, and fit us for 
useful happiness, and a triumphant death.” 


Night had kindly hung her curtain before the 
blazing sun, and threw her cooling shadows over the 
heated earth. It wasa fascinating nightin June. The 
full moon, suddenly rising above a mass of fleecy clouds, 
poured her silvery beams through the open casement. 
Lauretta could not bear it; the clear, calm light, 
mocked her woe. With an impatient gesture, she 
arose and closed the shutters, and lighted a shade 
lamp. ‘Then she sank upon her luxurious lounge 
in an attitude of despair. Her face was crimson 
with the fire of raging emotions; the pearly teeth 
tightly compressed her aristocratic lips, and her azure 
eyes were distended with a wild, fierce expression. 
No tears quenched their unnatural brightness. Her 
small, jewelled hands were clinched above her breast, 
as though she thought to still the tempest there. 

‘If I conld only cry,’’ she murmured, hoarsely, 
‘if I could only cry, and wash away with tears this 
terrible fever at my heart! But I am too miserable to 
cry —too miserable! How he must hate and despise 
me! and I, O, how I loved him! And I have smiled, 
and smiled, when my heart was breaking. Now Iam 
disgraced. I have deceived him who is the very soul 
of honor. If I could only blot out that one hour of 
my life! I had rather my tongue had been palsied. 
I knew she had refused Arlington for Clinton’s sake ; 
but I thought to blind him, and win him to my side, 
and I have failed. I have lowered my pride and 
stooped to deception, and now my punishment is more 
than I can bear. They are so happy in their love, 
and Iam alone in my shame. O, I had rather they 
would never look at me again than to treat me so 


HAPPINESS. — LAURETTA’S PRIDE. 235 


kindly when I know they scorn me! But I loved 
him, and hated her who rejoiced in his smile.” 

She hid her face in the silken cushions, and lay 
motionless. Gradually her mood softened, and the 
tears gathered beneath her lashes. She sprang to 
her feet and scornfully dashed the bright drops away. 

‘Tears! I will not shed one tear for him! Ido 
not love hin—TI never loved him! Lauretta Fay 
give her heart unasked, unsought! Never! Many 
have asked for my hand, and Clinton Forrest shall not 
see me droop and pine because he has not sought for 
it. J will not shrink and cringe; my pride shall sus- 
tain me! I will be married before they are, and he 
need not think it was for love I told him falsely; and 
that soft-voiced Elmina shall not trramph over me. 

‘Tet me think,’’ she continued, dropping her head 
thoughtfully. ‘‘I have refused two within a month ; 
Arlington long since left my ranks, and Carleton 
only remains upon the lists. I don’t much fancy him, 
but it matters little. He will visit me to-night, and 
I will bring him to the point. He shall propose, and 
I will insist upon an early marriage. It is eight 
o'clock ; he will be here shortly, and I must dress to 
receive him.”’ 

The strong hand of pride had composed her nerves, 
and she stood calmly before her mirror. A proud 
smile played over her features as she beheld the 
queenly beauty reflected there. She bound her long, 
bright hair witli pearls, and covered her white arms 
and taper fingers with jewels; an elegant dress of ° 
blue silk set off her fair complexion, and a fold of 
costly lace covered her bosom, still beating painfully, 
in spite of her glittering smile. Just as she was 
arrayed in faultless taste, the door-bell rang, and she 
descended the stairs with a stately step, to welcome 
her foppish visitor. 


” 


236 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


That night Lauretta was betrothed to the unprin- 
cipled Carleton, who loved her only for her wealth, 
with which he hoped to build up his own broken for- 
tune. But Heaven was merciful. On the morrow 
she was taken violently ill, and for several weeks was 
confined to her chamber. Elmina was her constant 
nurse. She watched over her, with all the apparent 
solicitude ofa fond sister. At first Lauretta shrank from 
receiving the attentions of one she had tried to injure 
so deeply, but Elmina’s affectionate ways prevailed at 
last, and. won her love and gratitude. 

With tears of contrition Lauretta confessed her 
misfortune, her error, and her mad folly, in the en- 
gagement to Mr. Carleton. ‘‘ But I do not respect 
him,”’? she said in conclusion, ‘‘and, as he has not 
called upon me during my sickness, 1 am convinced 
he does not love me, and therefore I shall send him a 
note requesting him to release me from my promise. 
Had I not best do so, Elmina ? ”’ 

‘“‘ By his own conduct I‘think he has lost all claim 
upon you,”’ said Elmina, taking up a daily paper and 
giving it to her companion. ‘‘ Read, Lauretta, and 
thank God for your deliverance.” 

Lauretta glanced eagerly at the paragraph pointed 
out. She grew pale, then crimson with shame, and ~ 
burst into a flood of tears. Elmina put her arm 
kindly about her. ‘‘ Do not weep, dear Lauretta,”’ 
she said; ‘‘ your secret is safe with me; no one shall 
know that you eyer seriously encouraged the atten- 
‘tions of so unworthy a man. _ Strive to forget him, 
and you may be happy again.’ 

Carleton had been arrested for an extensive forgery, 
and was at that time in confinement, awaiting his 
trial. He was convicted and condemned to a long 
Imprisonment. 

Lauretta reéntered. the gay circles, from which she 


HAPPINESS. — LAURETTA’S PRIDE. Jon 


had been missed for a season, and none dreamed of 
the smothered pain and mortification in her breast. 
She danced, and flirted, and coquetted, as before. In 
all outward things she was unchanged, save in her 
treatment of Elmina, whom she now tenderly loved. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 
UNCLE IKE IN A DILEMMA. 


CLINTON was in the library, reading, when uncle 
Ike entered, with an unusual expression of gravity 
upon his full, benevolent face. He closed the door, 
and commenced walking the floor slowly, with his 
arms folded behind him, and his head bowed upon his 
chest. 

‘‘ Clinton,’’ he began, a little nervously, ‘‘ I have 
educated you, and spent my money freely upon you; 
and I have been richly rewarded. You have been asa 
son to me, or rather as a younger brother.” 

‘‘ And you have been everything to me, — father, 
brother, and uncle,” said Clinton, with a glow of 
grateful feeling. 

‘“T have called you my heir, have I not, Clint, 
and made a will in your favor ?”’ 

‘You have called me your heir, uncle; but I have 
looked upon it as a title of affection and respect, as 
you are yet a young man, and we shall grow old 
together.” 


Well, you have had reason to expect that I 


“should give you a ‘handsome setting-out in: life.” 

Uncle Ike walked faster and faster, with his head 

averted from his nephew. ‘‘ Now, what should you 

say, what should you do, were I to ‘burn my will; cut 
(288) 


UNCLE IKE IN A DILEMMA. 239 


you off with a paltry thousand, — in short, disinherit 
ou?’’ a 
‘“‘T could bear it all very well, if I can only retain 
your affections. But it must be I have offended you. 
What have I done wrong?” 


‘* Nothing.” 
g. 
‘‘T don’t understand it, uncle,” said Clinton, in a 
tone of concern. ‘‘I must have grieved you in some 


way; please tell me how, and I will make every 
reparation in my power.” 

“¥ tell you, Clint, you have done nothing displeas- 
ing to me; I never loved you better than at this 
moment; and that makes it seem all the worse for 
me to | disappoint your expectations.” Here he blew 
his nose violently, as if to invoke his courage. 
‘‘ Whatever circumstances may occur, don’t think you 
are any the less my dear nephew.” 

A new thought flashed over Clinton’s mind, and 
his expression of perplexity vanished in a broad smile 
of delight. ~ “ Unele,” he cried, seizing his arm 
eagerly, | ‘look at me, and tell me if I have not 
guessed rightly : you want to get married!” 

Uncle Ike looked into his nephew’ s mirthful eyes, 
until he burst into a hearty laugh. ‘‘ You are right, 
Clint; you ’ve guessed it.” 

‘“T thought so, uncle, and I am right glad, too!” 
I wonder I did not think of it before, when I knew . 
you thought Josephine Emery the most wonderful of 
all her sex. Now I can account for your frequent 
rides into the city. I wish you much joy!” 

‘‘ Not so fast, boy ; I’ve not asked yet. 
better wish me success. I thought it would not a 
_ honorable in me to take a step which would rob you ee 
of the property which you have looked upon as” 
yours, without first preparing your mind for the 
change.” | 





940 _ ‘THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


“Set your heart at rest, my dear, conscientious 
sir, for I have not a word against it. You are too 
social and domestic to make a contented bachelor. 
Josephine will accept you; she cannot be insensible 
to your worth. She will make you a charming wife; 
you will be a capital husband, and a good father to 
her children. My dear uncle, I rejoice in your pro- 
spective happiness ! ” 

‘‘'You forget, Clint; you are rejoicing in what will 
make you poor. If I marry Josephine, her children 
will be mine, and my property devoted to them.” 

‘“Of course, how’could it be otherwise?” said 
Clinton. ‘But I am not poor; I can’t be poor. 
Have I not two strong hands, and a head containing 
a respectable amount of information? Uow fortunate 
that I had such a fancy for studying law two years 
ago! for a few weeks’ study will now fit me for the 
profession. I can work, Uncle Ike, and I will 
work !” 

Bright drops twinkled in Uncle Ike’s eyes. ‘‘ You 
are a noble, generous fellow,” he said. ‘‘ Not one in 
ten thousand would act and feel as you do, in like 
circumstances.” 

‘‘T want you to be happy as I am,” said Clinton. 
‘‘Why, since Elmina has promised to be mine, and 
you have blessed our love, I feel as though I must 
impart some of my overflowing happiness to every 
one I meet. I have not a regret for the fortune. 
There is dormant energy and independence in my 
character which will come out now.” Clinton threw 
his head back proudly, takimg a deep inspiration. 
‘‘ Born to poverty and want, and struggling for years 
against every disadvantage, I am consequently better 
fitted for exertion than to repose in the lap of luxury. 
I have studied and dreamed —dreamed of doing great 
and worthy deeds; but your fortune, my most gener- 


Sy 8 





UNCLE IKE IN A DILEMMA. QA 


ous uncle, was a clog instead ofa spur. Now that is 
removed, I can work. The world would never have 
heard of your ‘sole heir,’ but it may hear of your 
humble nephew!”  . 

No wonder uncle Ike looked proudly and fondly 
upon the young man before him, whose handsome 
face was beaming with the strong purpose of his 
heart. 

‘‘T will tell Elmina of the change in my prospects, 
and I know she will feel: just as Ido. God speed 
your wooing, my incorrigible, incurable bachelor 
uncle ! ”’ 


Josephine Emery had learned to watch for the 
daily coming of one whose cheerful presence had 
enlivened many an hour, and whose active benevo- 
lence had raised her above toil and want. Her chil- 
dren ran shouting ‘‘ Uncle Ike! Uncle Ike!” when- 
ever he came to the door, and her own heart beat a 
quick and joyful measure when his well-known step 
resounded through the hall. 

Yes, Josephine loved Ike Lincoln; - — perhaps not 
as she loved him who had received her girlish vows, 
and placed the ring upon her finger in token of their 
betrothment; but she felt for him an earnest and 
sincere affection. His sterling character had won 
her admiration, and his delicate and ‘repeated kind- 
nesses to her had deepened admiration into gratitude, 
and gratitude into love. 

When he told her he loved her; that his greatest 
desire was to make her the mistress of a home which 
should be equally theirs; that he wished to adopt her 
children, and be a kind: father to them;— when he 
told her that the deepest, holiest affections of his 
heart were all dedicated to her, she felt that her cup 
16 


= 


942 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


of happiness was suddenly filled to the brim, and she 
quaffed it with a thankful heart. 

There was uplifting of hands, and upraising of 

eyes, when it was whispered among the fashionables 
that Ike Lincoln was going to be married. What a 
wonder! Who was the fortunate lady? Where did 
she-come from? , Nobody knew; so everybody put 
their heads together to unravel the great mystery. 
But, when it was ‘really known that he had married 
‘a young widow, whose only dowry was her beauty, 
virtue, and two little children, the wonder increased 
tenfold. 
, Manceuvring mammas and marriageable daughters, 
“who had flattered and courted the wealthy and eccen- 
tric bachelor; those who had fawned and smiled upon 
him, proud to receive a smile in return; those who 
had swallowed his sarcastic rebukes without a grimace, 
because they came from him ; —all these shook their 
heads and set it down as a very foolish affair. 

But the happy couple cared not for what the world 
said, so long as their personal friends approved and 
rejoiced with them. A lovely country-seat was fitted 
up with everything which wealth and taste could com- 
mand, and thither uncle Ike took his little family. 

They were married; peace and plenty guarded the 
doors, and the angels of love and happiness crowning 
their hearts never were displaced. Tranquil pleas- 
ures, intellectual pursuits, and acts of benevolence 
and friendship, filled up the glad measure of their 
days. 

** An elegant sufficiency ; content, : 
Retirement, rural quiet, friendship, books, 


Ease and alternate labor, useful life, 
Progressive virtue, and approving Heaven.”’ 


CHAP THR GMX VILn. ety ca 
ee | 


THE BRIDAL. — 


‘* Echo, on the zephyrs gliding, 
Bears a voice which seems to say, 
‘ Ears and hearts, come list my tiding, Mice 
This has been a wedding day.’ ”’ 


A year had passed. Our hero had studied faith- 
fully and well. He had been admitted» to the bar. 


with honor, and old and wise lawyers said that Clin- 
ton Forrest would be an-ornament to his profession. 
His heart beat with high hopes, and now the crowning 
wish of his life was about to be consummated. 

On one fair morning, Clinton and Elmina were to 
start for Oakville; there, beneath the parental roof, 


to register their plighted vows before God and man. 


Sa 


aete 
te ue 
“ge 


It was to be a double wedding; for, in the same hour, ~ 


Frank Clement and Dora May were to become one in 
name, as they had long ‘been in heart. Generous 
uncle Ike had caused a fine cottage to be erected cn 
a lovely site adjoining the grounds once belonging to 
Dr. Clement, now in the possession of his son. He 
and Clinton had repeatedly visited Oakville, and now 
the house was all fitted and furnished for the young 
couple. 

Uncle Ike and his Josephine had never journeyed 
together, and they thought this a fine opportunity to 
visit Oakville, and to accompany their young friends 


on their bridal tour. 
| (248) 


244 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


George Lincoln’s spacious villa was rife with the 
bustle of preparation. ‘Tears and sniiles, regrets and 
congratulations, mingled with the tender leave-taking. © 
Uncle George shook hands with his nephew and niece, 
and wished them every imaginable blessing. Lucy 
folded Elmina to her bosom, with brimming eyes, and 
prayed Heaven to smile upon her ever. She em- 
braced Clinton, with many half-serious, half-playful 
commands about guarding well her darling Mina. 
The little girls clung weeping to their dear cousins, 
and only repeated promises that they should visit 
them in their Massachusetts home could check their 
fast-flowing tears. 

The last good-by was said, and, uncle Ike’s cheer- 
ful voice sounding above the rest, the two couple 
entered the coach which was to convey them to the 
steamboat. The short journey to .Oakville was 
executed quickly and pleasantly. We say Oakville 
still, though the place is now known by a different 
appellation, and has become almost a city in popula- 
tion and business. 

Elmina thought the place had never looked so 
beautiful, and her own dear childhood’s home seemed 
dearer than ever before. Frank and Dora were ready 
: torgreet them. O, what a meeting it was! -We can- 
not describe it; our pen falters and shrinks from 
the impossible task. Here our young friends had 
parted with tears and regrets, and here they had met 
again under the happiest auspices. And the presence 
of their beloved instructress and her husband increased 
their joy. 

In a state of delightful confusion, they sat down to 
the luxurious supper-table, over which Mrs. May 
presided with placid ease. The faithful Ann fluttered 
back and forth, more glad than she had ever been 
before. There had been a little love episode in her 


° THE BRIDAL. P 945 


life; but, her lover proving recreant, she came back 
to her old home, contented to serve the son as she had 
the father. And then her dear Miss Mina was to live 
close by, and be married to Clint Forrest, her old 
favorite. So many joyful things, happening all at 
once, made the girl almost beside. herself; and, to 
crown all, she was to be left in charge of the man- 
sion while the young couples took their bridal trip, 
for Mrs. May was to accompany them. 

After tea, the merry company made a tour of the 
house. Hverything was in order, and ready for 
housekeeping. Uncle Ike lingered to admire the 
view from the western windows, but Elmina hastened 
to the chamber which has been ‘spoken of as her 
mother’s favorite sitting-room. Great was her dis- 
appointment to find it furnished entirely anew, and 
wearing so different an aspect that she could hardly 
recognize the apartment which her father had fitted 
up expressly for her mother, and after her death had 
called hers. She turned away, with quivering lip 
and heaving bosom. . Her interest in examining the 
house was lost, while the rest admired this or that, 
and laughed and chatted to their hearts’ content. 

A beautiful white cottage peeped invitingly through 


the intervening foliage, and upon it Elmina’s eye — 


rested longingly. _ Clinton, observing her abstraction, 
went and stood by her side. 

‘Ts that our home, Clint ?”’ she whispered. 

‘* Yes, dearest. As it not a lovely spot?” 

“Very lovely!” was the earnest reply. 

“ Now, Dr. F sail ” said uncle Ike, “‘ weve passed 
judgment on your mansion, and you must lead the 
way to the establishment of our young lawyer. Lucky 
people this, to gain in one day two such talented 
young men ! ! Undoubtedly, in five years, Dr. Clem- 


246 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


ent and lawyer Forrest will be the leading men of 
the place!” 

‘T shall do what I can to fulfil my part of your 
prophecy,” said C'inton, laughing. 

‘And I,” said Frank, ‘‘ must play my cards very 
badly, not to gain some influence. My father’s name 
is better than a fortune to me; for the people here 
imagine me to possess all his virtues and abilities.”’ 

‘‘So it seems you are both.‘on the high-road to 
fame,” said uncle Ike. ‘May God speed you, my 
young aspirants !”’ 

«“ What a love of a cottage! ’’ thought Elmina, : as 
they came in full view ; and What a love of a house ! 
was echoed by all, as they entered the tasteful eae 
The style of furniture, coloring of carpets, the pic- 
tures gracing the walls, and the arrangement of the 
flowing curtains, were all in perfect keeping. An air 
of exquisite taste pervaded the whole. While stay- 
ing in New York, Elmina had half wished she could 
personally superintend the arrangement of her new 
home; but now she was satisfied — nay, more than 
satisfied, delighted. 

‘To be sure,’ said uncle Ike, ‘‘ Elmina selected 
everything in New York, and Clint and I nailed down 
the carpets and brought in the furniture ; but it is to 
Miss Dora’s fine taste and skilful fingers that the 
whole house owes its pleasing appearance.”’ 

Elmina looked her gratitude, as she affectionately 
pressed Dora’s little hand. The parlors were admired, 
the ‘pretty little library, and the large convenient 
kitchen; and then they passed up stairs. 

‘This is my beau ideal of a guest-chamber,” said 
Elmina, looking around in pleased surprise.* ‘‘ And 
these two smaller rooms are as pretty as can be. 
What, is there another large chamber?” she contin- 
ued, as Dora threw open the door. ‘‘ In deserib- 


THE BRIDAL. 247 


ing the house, Clinton, I thought you spoke of but 
three.”’ 

She entered the room, and the first glance about 
her brought a bright sparkle to her eye. The car- 
pet, the chairs and table, were those which had be- 
longed to her dear mother’s chamber; her little 
library, work-stand, and even the rosewood writing- 
desk, were all in their proper places. Joyful, grateful 
tears swelled in Elmina’s eyes, as she looked from . 
Frank to Dora, and from Dora to Clinton, who were 
exchanging significant glances. They had prepared 
a pleasant surprise for her. She tried to thank them, 
but her voice failed her; she sat down in the little rock- 
ing-chair where her mother had often sat, and Frank 
put his arm about her, and they talked, in low tones, 
of the dear father and mother, whose spirits they felt 
were rejoicing in their happiness. The remainder of 
the company censiderately left the brother and sister 
alone, while they sauntered about the garden-walks. 

Radiantly dawned the bridal morn. , The rising sun 
flung such a flood of glory through the parted cur- 
tains, that Dora sprang frem her pillow to look out 
upon the lovely day. 

‘Wake, Mina!” she cried to her sleeping friend ; 
‘“‘ the sun is shining gloriously; the birds are singing 
sweeter than I ever heard before, and the air is clearer 
and softer — all in honor of our bridal morn! Wake, 
Mina! let us take a ramble before the sun kisses the 
dew from the flowers, or the birds finish their morn- 
ing songs.” : 

Shortly, the two maidens, soon to step from maid- 
enhood into the holiest relationship of life, were trip- 
ping up the green hills, and dancing through the 
grove, filling their hands with flowers, and their hearts 
with melody. Nature sang a new song to them on 
that morn, striking a deeper and a tenderer. tone. 


948 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


Never did the two friends look more lovely than when 
they returned with their dew-wet flowers. Hxercise 
and excitement, with the deep happiness welling up 
from their hearts, combined to throw an irresistible 
charm over their sparkling faces. 

Frank and Clinton, with their arms passed about 
each other, walked out to meet the dear girls. The 
little band of friends was united once more with un- 
broken links. ‘True, love had sprung up luxuriantly 
in each young heart, but it could not overshadow the 
tie of friendship that still drew them all together in 
a beautiful union. 

They were married, at an early hour, by the aged 
pastor who had ministered to the people many years. 
He had married Dr. Clement, whom he much loved 
and respected, and now he performed the same cere- 
mony for his son and daughter, with deep emotion. 
It was a touching scene—that white-haired man 
standing so solemnly before the blooming couples, 
and the .half-tearful, half-smiling attention of those 
friends who were invited to witness the ceremony. 

“ What Gad hath joined together, let not man 
put asunder !”’ 

The minister bowed his head in silence. Both 
couples were united in bonds which death only could 
divide. 

There was a momentary hush, while the beating 
hearts grew more composed, and then there was a 
pertect ‘shower of congratulations, compliments and 
good wishes. 

Uncle Ike saluted each bride with a kiss, and then 
the wedding-cake and sparkling water were served, 
’mid such pretty sayings, meaning smiles and timely 
Witticisms, as ever constitute the pies eae of a 
wedding. 

Just as the company were about to disperse, the 


THE BRIDAL. 249 


venerable pastor, standing in the centre of the circle, 
raised his hands and eyes heavenward, as if to invoke 
a benediction. Hvery tongue was mute, and every 
eye turned upon their revered friend. 

‘‘ Holy Father, pour thy choicest blessings on these 
young people, who have just entered the bonds of 
matrimony. Bless them in their houses and stores; 
bless them by their firesides, and in the outer walks 
of life! Grant that the mantles of the parents may 
descend upon the children, and may their virtues be 
the watchword of their lives !” 

“‘ Amen!” said uncle Ike. 

‘“ Amen!” was the inaudible, yet fervent response 
of those for whom the blessing was breathed; and 
Amen!’ said every listening heart. 

In an hour the bridal party set out on their pleas- 
ure-excursion, and the mansion was deserted by all 
save the faithful domestic, who went about arranging 
the disordéred parlors with a cheerful ditty. on her 
lips. 

The old miser, Wells, was dead; apd his wife, 
whom we knew of old as Mrs. James Clement, was 
- frantic — not with grief for the loss of her husband, 
but for the loss of property. He had left everything toa 
distant cousin. Thus her fearful sacrifice for gold was 
all in vain. Without a single friend to comfort her, 
or the knowledge of her own virtue to console her, the 
spirit of Mrs. Wells was prostrated to the dust by ° 
the wild storm of disappointment and adversity, 


> = 


OH ACP PERK A VDL 
LAURETTA. 


** Wealth often killeth, where want but hindereth the budding ”* 


In order to alleviate her disappointment and cha- 
grin, Lauretta Fay plunged into the dizziest round of 
fashionable amusement. She dressed more expens- 
ively than ever befere; the costliest jewels and 
finest fabrics were scarce worthy to deck her queenly 
person. But all the blandishments of wealth and 
~ fashion could not steal away the inward regret; her 
laugh echoed over a heart weary and dissatisfied. 

A. leisure hour was unbearable to her who had | 
suffered her mind to remain vacant, while she merely 
sipped the bright foam of superficial accomplishments. 
She lived out of herself as much as possible. She 
grew more exclusive, more fastidious in her dress, 
more aristocratic and heartless, every day. f 

In the height of her giddy career, when the rich 
sought her favor, and even the good ‘and gifted were 
dazzled by her beauty, the bubble of fortune burst. 
Horrified at this unexpected revolution in the wheel 
of fate, poor Lauretta felt as if wrecked on a dismal 
shore, with a wild and stormy sea rolling between her 
and the gay world she so loved. 

Ike Lincoln could no longer conceal from his ward 
the fact that she was lavishing an imaginary fortune, 
for the real wealth had taken itself wings and flown 


ey. He placed three thousand dollars in eo a 
(250) 


LAURETTA. PAGS 


with the information that it was all she possessed 
except her wardrobe and jewels. The kind-hearted 
man refrained from telling her that he took the three 
thousand dollars from his own property, after settling 
her unpaid bills. 

Lauretta spread the money before her, gazing upon 
it with distended eyes. Her fortune, which she had 
imagined to be almost inexhaustible, was suddenly 
contracted within the compass of anut-shell. O, what 
was the world to her now—her world of summer 
friends? Often had she passed slightingly by those 
‘whom fortune had deserted; and now it was her turn 
to shrink from the coldly-averted eye, the contempt- 
uous smile, and, worse than all, the utter neglect of 
those whom she had called friends. O, it was a hard 
lesson for the proud girl! 

She could not endure to remain in the city, now 
that she could no longer appear to advantage in the 
gay circles where she had shone preéminent ; there- 
fore she resolved to retire to the country. Her health 
and spirits were at the lowest ebb. At this moment 
of her need she received a letter from Clinton and 
Elmina, with a cordial and pressing invitation to visit 
them. She hesitated but for a moment, for she was 
humbled, and felt that she needed just such kind at- 
tentions and advice as she knew she should receive 
under their roof. 

Our friends received her.with open arms, for they 
were filled with compassion for the unfortunate girl. 
No reference was ever made to aught unpleasant in 
the past, while they treated her as a beloved friend. 
The mighty power of kindness overcame the pride 
and selfishness in Lauretta’s heart, and she acknowl- 
édged, with penitential tears, that she had received 
good for evil. 

At first Lauretta suffered in the daily presence of 


252 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


Clinton, and in beholding his tenderness for his bride ; 
but in time this feeling wore away, and a better and © 
wiser one took its place. She began to feel pleasure 
in the joy of others. Hre long she was fully domes- 
ticated in this happy home, which seemed an ark of 
peace to her worn spirit. 

Lauretta was not entirely heartless. There was a 
spring of womanly worth in her bosom, which was 
hidden by the rubbish of false education, and the glit- 
ter of outward display. Now the force of circum- 
stances turned her thoughts within, and the slumbering 
good was found; warm and true feelings bubbled 
forth, refreshing withered virtues, and reviving forgot- 
ten resolves. Tie 

Elmina perceived with pleasure this radical change 
in Lauretta, and, by her advice and example, assisted 
her much. Lauretta was surprised that she could be 
so happy in a quiet country:-home; she sang over her 
sewing; and the cool grove and singing birds oft 
wooed her out to learn a lesson of nature. Nature is 
a sacred teacher; its influence was most blessed on 
the gay. belle, whose perceptions of the pure and 
beautiful were just springing into life. When six 
months had passed, she acknowledged that, in the 
height of her gay city career, she had never been 
as happy as now. She ceased to regret the loss of 
wealth, since she had gained what was more desirable, 
health and quiet happiness. She now had time to 
cultivate her mind, and she soon found a new occupa- 
tion and delight; the fountains of knowledge were 
unsealed to her. 

In time Lauretta Fay became very unlike herself 
of old. The haughty expression of her face was ex- 
changed for one of cheerfulness, and she was affec- 
tionate.and companionable. This transformation was 
not effected without many struggles and prayers. 


LAURETTA. 958 


She would sometimes repine and despond ; sometimes 
speak scornfully ‘to her dearest friends; and often 
her proud ways would send away in disgust those 
who would gladly have loved her. But she viewed 
life from a new platform; she perceived her moral 
obligations, and had a sincere desire to elevate her 
character. She persevered. Preconceived prejudices 
gradually loosened their hold upon her mind, and, ’mid 
all-ennobling influences, she became gentle and loving. 
She persevered, and the victory was hers —a glorious 
victory, even the conquering of self. 


CHA PTE Rr, Rex 2 Xs 
CONCLUSION. 


THE lights and shadows of twelve years have 
thrown their changeful web over human life, and we 
lift the curtain again to bid adieu to the characters of 
our tale. 

A country farm-house is now the home of Mrs. 
Wells. A comfortable room is allotted to her use, 
and the farmer’s kind wife attends faithfully to all her 
wants. Yet she is lonely. No love-tone makes 
music through the untuned strings of her heart, and 
no touch of affection smooths the wrinkles on her 
brow. Alone and unloved, she is passing down the 
declivity of life. Premature age bows her form and 
streaks her dark locks with gray. She is dependent 
upon the bounty of Clinton Forrest. His generosity 
provides her a comfortable home. Yes, he, who when 
a boy she ill-treated and despised, came to her in her 
poverty, and saved her from the almshouse. She 
feels the galling weight of dependence, but no grati- 
tude softens her heart. Sometimes Elmina comes 
‘like a sunbeam, with her sweet words and smile, but 
Mrs. Wells is too wretched, too much absorbed in her 
deserved calamities, to reply only with peevish com- 
plaints. 

James Clement is a drunkard; and his wretched 
mother sadly contrasts his fate with that of his 
favored cousin Frank, but is all unconscious that her 

(254) 


CONCLUSION. 255 


own weakness and folly sowed in childhood the seeds 
of the harvest she is reaping now. 

In a fair southern home, where every breeze is 
redolent with perfume, and wealth and taste combine 
to beautify, dwell the happy Arlington and sweet 
Fannie Gay, now his wife and the mother of two 
blooming children. 

And would you hear a word of Lauretta Fay? 
She is the queen of an humble, but happy home. A 
worthy man has won her to himself, and she reigns 
more proudly in his heart than ever in the gay 
circles of fashion. 

A fair and stately young matron, dignified, yet 
cordial. Her cottage-home is sought bythe gifted 
and true. Little children offer her flowers and look 
wonderingly upon her beauty. The suffering and 
needy rejoice in her gentle charities, and many an 
invalid’s eye brightens at the tones of her voice. Her 
husband folds her to his heart and blesses her and 
the tiny one blossoming by her side, clings fohdly to 
her. 

_ Can this be Lauretta Fay ? 

- Ay. The proud belle is metamorphosed into the 
tender wife and mother; the fashionable lady into a 
true woman. It is a beautiful change. Once happi- 
ness was as a gilded air-bubble to her vision ; now it 
has a tangible hold on all the springs of life. 

Uncle Ike’s prophecy is now fulfilled: Frank 
Clement and Clinton Forrest are the leading men in 
the place. The present high moral and intellectual 
tone of the community is owing very much to the 
united labors of these energetic young men. 

Frank has followed in the footsteps of his excellent 
father, and he wears high honors in his profession. 
And his home,—O, it is a happy one! Dora’s 
smaile is as bright as in her girlish days, and her spirit 


256 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. 


as blithe and gay as ever. Is her husband’s brow 
clouded? how quickly her voice dispels the shadows ! 
Is he weary and depressed? how she charms him 
into forgetfulness of all save her love! 

Clinton Forrest does not look upon his iioteaaien 
merely as a road to wealth and eminence, but he 
regards it as a responsible office, which, if honorably 
filled, will elevate himself and those for whom he 
labors. Right and Truth are his motto. He adjusts 
petty quarrels with his kindly advice as a Christian — 
man. But when the poor, the wronged and oppressed, 
need him, his heart is fired with zeal and his tongue 
with eloquence. Hlmina is the light of his home, the 
star of his heart. Her voice is still dearer to him 
than the world’s praises, and her love more treasured 
than the wreath of fame. 

Some tears have they shed. Flowers blossom on 
the grave of a loved one; their beautiful first-born is 
given back into the keeping of a Holy Father. But 
their little Bertie still smiles upon them, and makes 
music for their hearts. 

Despite the clouds which drift across the sunniest 
summer’s sky, — despite the thorns which will spring 
where roses grow, — our friends are walking joyfully 
the path of life. Honor and peace dwell with them, 
and love, unaltered and undimmed, burns brightly in 
each heart. 











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